


Thank God for the Trees

by Ninjaninaiii



Series: White Chrysanthemum and Water Lilies [1]
Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Based on ITV Rosemary and Thyme, Depictions of Murder, Flower Language, Flowerboy Kieren, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Rick used as an antagonist, references to previous exploitative relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaninaiii/pseuds/Ninjaninaiii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to reassess their lives from the ground up, Kieren and Simon's new start as gardeners means that they overhear secrets and dig up clues, kickstarting a new life of flirting, floral problems, solving crimes and catching criminals. It's not what they thought the country life would lead to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And No Birds Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the In the Flesh Big Bang 2015! A big thanks to these guys (http://intheflesh-bigbang.tumblr.com/) for making it all happen! <3
> 
> This fic has beautiful illustrations by the wonderful Kit (@ http://monsternist.co.vu/ or http://monsternistart.tumblr.com/), who you should go and sell your soul to very possibly for giving you this BEAUTY. 
> 
> The fic itself is heavily inspired by ITV's 'Rosemary and Thyme', hence the rather strange premise. It's a good watch, though, if you're into outdated early 2000's tech and quite embarrassing clothing.

 

# Episode 1- And No Birds Sing

A series of incessant beeps from a car was followed by a couple of seconds of silence, and then a hammering on the door. Kieren stood from where he’d been lacing his shoes, sat on the carpeted bottom step and yanked the door open.

A gruff man pointed at the taxi still running in the road, looking pissed. “Didn’t you hear the horn?”

Kieren set his jaw, picked up two of his backpacks and pointed at the suitcase, wordlessly stepping out of the house, with the affronted driver following behind. He dumped his bags in the boot, the taxi driver hefting the rest of his stuff in after, and retraced his steps to the garden.

Kieren looked up at the house, semi-detached, nice neighbourhood, clean, well-maintained garden, and knelt to pick up one of the stones lining the rockery. He weighed it in one hand, pulled his arm back and threw it through the front-window, setting off the house alarm, which in turn got half the street’s dogs barking.

He turned, yanked the taxi door open and folded his arms as he sat, ignoring the look the driver was giving him.

“The uh, station, wasn’t it, sir?”

“The station.” Kieren bit his lip and the taxi pulled away from the curb, not looking back, not replying to the driver’s chatter, focusing on getting to the station without crying.

\--

Simon dropped a pack of crisps on his passenger’s lap, stashing his own in his car door and putting a bottle of water in the cup holder by the gear-stick. He buckled himself in, checked his mirror and turned the key, which let out a sad splutter of a noise. Simon sighed, took his spanner out from underneath his crisps and went round to the front of the car, popping the lid and inspecting the engine.

He hit it a few times with the spanner.

“Can you turn the key, John?”

This time the engine only spluttered once, and Simon gave the bonnet a loving pat as he closed it. “She’s a good wagon,” he told his boss as he closed the door, releasing the handbrake and pulling out of the petrol station.

The professor hummed, disinterested with the jeep after having been subjected to its various failures over the years. “This man we’re visiting, he was one of yours?”

“He was a mature student a couple years back.”

“Hm. Don’t remember him.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember every student of the university, Mr. Principal Weston, Sir?”

“Very funny. You never talked of him.”

“Freddie was a good student, did some good work.”

Weston hummed again, shuffling the papers in his lap. The ride was too bumpy for him to have been reading anything, Simon knew, so it was just for show. Weston looked up, after a while, watching the countryside pass. “We were pretty good together weren’t we?”

Simon snorted. “Were we?”

“Oh come on, Simon, you and I, we did amazing work, pushed scientific boundaries. It’s a shame we never…”

“When we were young, John. You used me as an experiment, we felt alive. I want nothing to do with your mid-life sexuality crisis.” Weston sighed, rubbing his jaw as if he’d been punched, and went back to watching the greenery fly past until they pulled into the lavish drive of their host.

The mansion was owned by a rich, self-proclaimed dying man. Freddie Preston had too little time, too much money, and had sent their university a letter, hoping they would accept a series of donations before his death, so that he could see it put to good use before his dying day.

The university was more than happy to accept, but Weston was told he’d have to visit the man first before sponging the money off of him, and Simon, as the man’s lecturer, would act as an intermediary.

The meeting was held in Preston’s bedroom, Freddie’s skin too blistered and bloody to move, but his mind and mouth were as sharp as ever. The resident doctor, Freddie’s wife, his business partner and housekeeper all interrupted at varying intervals, with offers of tea, hopes they’d come back when he wasn’t so tired, and it was decided the contract would be signed at a later date.

Neither Simon nor Weston were pushed for time, and they’d prefer their client sort his family matters out before he signed, lest the family come after them posthumously and threaten a lawsuit like they’d had to face before: forcing a dying man into donating the last of his money instead of willing it to his wife.

“You mentioned in one of your letters you were having a horticultural problem?” Weston asked from the doorway, almost having forgotten. “I can’t say how happy Simon was to see one of his ex-pupils actually making use of their degree and designing their own gardens.”

“It’s a beautiful layout,” Simon said from the window, having snuck a chance at a birds-eye view. “And your flowers are blooming perfectly.”

Freddie smiled, pleased, waving off the compliments. “But I can’t get out there myself these days, y’know, have to get my housekeeper to do the work. I’m told my trees are alarming?”

“I can take a look at them for you if you’d like?” Simon asked, and Freddie grinned again.

“I’d appreciate it, man. I doubt I’ll ever get to see your finished work, but it would take a weight off of my mind.”

Simon and Weston excused themselves, letting the doctor get back to inspecting him. His wife, Haley, showed them out to the garden before disappearing back to her husband’s side.

“These’ll be the trees, then,” Weston said, running his hand over the white bark of one of the trees lining a gravelled path. It looked as if it were bleeding, bright red sap dripping down the trunk. He inspected his hand with a small grimace and wiped them on his handkerchief.

“That doesn’t look good.” Simon took a flick knife from one of the pockets of his trousers and dug a jewel of sap from the tree, turning it about in his fingers against the light of the sun.

There was the blaring sound of a car horn and Simon jumped, nearly dropping knife and sap in his surprise. Weston seemed less surprised, and started off towards the sound, wad of paper in his hand.

“That’ll be my taxi!”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I have paperwork to do, Simon. Nice chat, I know you’ll do good work here.”

“How long have I got before you need me back at the uni?”

“As long as it takes.” Weston smiled, raising one hand in goodbye before jogging out across the expansive garden towards the carpark.

Simon sighed, turning back to his tree. “Thanks a bunch.”

-

Philip was making toast when there was a rough knock on his door, followed by a long, ear-piercing ring on the doorbell. He turned the toaster off at the plug (he’d learnt his lesson) and went to see who was interrupting his only day off this month.

“Oh, it’s you- Amy isn’t in, er-” Philip looked at the pile of bags at Kieren’s feet and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“He’s left me. For some 18 year old girl.”

“Oh. Er. You’d best come in.” He helped Kieren with the suitcase, and dumped them all in the living room. Kieren took no time in adopting Philip’s sofa as his own, while he remained standing, hovering over him. “Tea?” he asked, with little idea what else to do.

“When’s Amy back?”

“Er, usually about 6-ish, I can phone her if you like?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks.” Kieren resumed staring at the blank wall opposite the sofa and Philip clasped his hands in front of him, worried but not knowing Kieren well enough to even begin comforting the man.

“Was that a yes for tea?” Three minutes after being ignored for the second time, Philip let out a small huff and went back to making lunch. He left a mug next to Kieren, with a little jug of milk and a pot of sugar just in case.

Philip usually spent his days off catching up with his favourite tv shows, but with Kieren looking like he probably wouldn’t appreciate an Emmerdale marathon, he cleaned the house instead. God knew it was in dire need of tidying. Since his mum had given him the house to share with Amy, herself going abroad sofa-hopping in various friends’ and family’s living rooms, he wasn’t sure the house had had a good scrubbing.

He and Amy both worked, and though Amy was keen on decorating the place to make sure it didn’t look “quite to dreary”, she never seemed to have the time to dust around the hundreds of porcelain statues and photo frames. Not that Philip expected her to do it or anything, but, he thought as he had another sneezing fit from the sheer amount of accumulated dust, they should probably make this a more than annual thing. He lifted a plantpot to find a spider’s den and nearly cried until Kieren came and carried them away. Perhaps cleaning should be weekly.

Philip almost didn’t realise how the time had flown, but managed to catch Amy at the door when he heard the door unlock. He hushed her before she could start her usual routine: “Honey I’m home, did you miss me?” which usually ran into something akin to her joking about finding out about secret love affairs, hidden drugs, etc., etc., none of which Philip assumed Kieren would appreciate.

“What’s this, a welcoming party? You are hiding something!” Amy grinned, pecking him on the cheek. “Did you have a beautiful day, lived to the fullest?”

“Kieren’s here, he’s… not happy. Rick left him. For a teenager. A girl.”

Amy’s smile disappeared as she carefully put her bag down, took off her coat and put her keys in their key-holder. She heard floorboards creak and looked up to see Kieren waiting in the doorway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

“I suppose you knew then, did you,” Kieren accused, voice hollow.

“Of course not, darling, how could I have known. He was always so loving.” Amy abandoned the rest of her stuff, Philip excusing himself to go make tea, and she pulled him into a tight hug, rocking back and forth.

“I can’t believe him, he just, went to bed normal as ever last night, then I woke up this morning and he’d left a note saying how he’d be back to pick up his shit tonight.”

“The girl?”

“Some eighteen year old, fresh out of fucking school, blonde, blue-eyed.” Kieren pulled Amy tighter. “I didn’t even see it coming.” He sniffed, then made an aggravated noise. “That’s what makes it worse. He spends twenty years pretending to be a decent human being then he turns out to be just like the rest of them.”

“Oh bambi, don’t cry, he doesn’t deserve you anyway, you’re more gorgeous than anyone else on the planet, present company excluded.” Kieren let out a rejected laugh, which Amy took as a win, pushing him away so she could stare into his eyes. “Come on, let’s get you some ice-cream.”

Three hours and a pint of ice cream later, Amy’s phone rang. She eyed it warily, but seeing the number, she sighed. “I’m sorry, beauty, we can’t put you up here, but Philip will get someone to take you down to the hotel?”

Kieren nodded, knowing the house was pressed for space anyway, and not wanting to impinge on them, he smiled.

“You’re welcome to come back for a good old natter tomorrow, okay? First thing, Philip will come and collect you and we can go for tea. Get some cake into that skinny body of yours.”

Kieren laughed, rubbing at his sore eyes, Amy tousling his hair. “Right, Philip, can you get one of the guys to give our beautiful baby a lift?”

“Erm, okay, which one?”

Amy looked at the time on her phone. “Oh, it’s getting late, get that one who didn’t donate to the charity at Christmas.”

Philip nodded, leaving the room to find his contacts book and Amy redirected her attention to the still-sniffling Kieren. “It’s going to be okay, Kier, you’ll see.”

-

Simon had just finished his dinner, the waitress taking away his plates when a new guest came in, accompanied by the man he’d seen in his student’s house that day, his student’s business partner, a Mr. Boxer if he remembered correctly. He leaned back in his chair so he could see better through the dining room’s door, watching as the younger man accompanying Mr. Boxer picked up his bags and said a farewell, heading to a room with his keys in one hand.

“See you tomorrow, Ren,” Mr. Boxer said, receiving a quiet thanks.

Simon was sipping his coffee and attempting to type an email in google-translate Malaysian when ‘Ren’ came into the dining room and sat in one of the corners, ordering a soup. The man was a lot more interesting than Malaysian, and Simon found himself glancing up more often than looking down at his work, watching as Kieren sat and watched the window.

The man looked like he’d just been crying, judging by the red rims of his eyes, and when Simon pulled his attention from watching Kieren’s face to his hands, he looked like he was turning a ring. Simon sighed. Married, then. Shame. The next time Simon looked up, Kieren’s finger was bare. Simon frowned. Marriage troubles? For one so young? When he looked back up at Kieren’s face to judge his age, the man was watching him, and Simon panicked. He smiled, then winced, then went back to typing nonsense into google that he’d probably have to delete later.

Kieren walked past him before the waitress could return with his order, and Simon felt mightily guilty at having creeped the man out enough to make him want to skip dinner. Ten more minutes with zero more words, Simon gave up, closed the lid of his laptop and piled all of his papers together. He’d continue in his room, in case Kieren wanted to come back down, or had gone to the toilet or something.

He lugged his shit upstairs to his room, but as he approached, he heard sobbing and stopped. He put his ear to his door, but it didn’t sound like it was coming from in there, so he inched closer to the room next door. The hotel was little more than a converted house, the rooms pressed close together, and so the man who was crying could be heard quite clearly. Simon frowned, going to knock but paused. What good could he do, after all, when he was little more than a strange stranger. He unlocked his door and tried to get ready for bed as quietly as possible.

-

“I need you to go the lab and get my small microscope, my copy of exotic botany and some underwear from home. Yeah. Yeah, you know where my house keys are? Right, thanks. See you soon.” Simon came down the hotel’s stairs, slipping his mobile into his back pocket while trying to maneuver the tight corridors.

“Sorry, sir, landline’s for house-use only. There’s a phonebox up the street if you need it.”

Simon watched as the man from yesterday’s shoulders slumped. “You can use my mobile if you’re desperate,” he said, smiling his least-creepy smile in a hopes that this time Kieren wouldn’t run away. He dumped his bag on the reception’s waiting-room chair, fished his mobile out and handed it to a sheepish Kieren. “Won’t even charge you and all.”

Kieren nodded a grateful thanks, small smile showing and took the outstretched phone. “Left the house in a hurry yesterday, forgot the one thing I need.” He poked in the number and called, the two of them staring at opposite walls in a silence only tempered by the sound of someone hoovering in a distant room. After a couple of minutes, Kieren looked at the phone and frowned. “Do you mind if I try again?”

“Be my guest, unlimited calls I don’t ever have occasion to use,” Simon smiled.

“...Come on, you bastard, pick up.”

Simon couldn’t help but laugh, not pegging the pretty, innocent looking man for the phone-rage kind of guy, and was shot a glare, (a joking one, at least,) because of it. A couple more tries and Kieren gave up, giving Simon his phone back and turning to glance at the clock.

“Waiting for my friend, said he’d get a guy to pick me up at half eight, now there’s no reply from either.”

“Your friend being Mr. Boxer?”

Kieren raised an eyebrow, arms crossing in a defensive position. “You know him?”

“Not really, met him at work yesterday.” Simon put his bag on his shoulder and thought for a second. “Where you heading?”

“Up by Devonish?”

“I drive by there on my way.  I’ll give you a lift if you want.”

Kieren looked torn, though at least this time wasn’t giving Simon a dirty look, so he nodded, picked up his own bag and headed out after Simon. “Thank you. I’m er, Kieren.”

“You’re welcome Kieren. Simon.” Simon held out his hand, which was shook, and they got into his car, which started first time, just with a croaky groan.

Kieren raised an eyebrow. “Is this where I regret getting into a rusty old car with a stranger?”

“She’s a little rickety, the old girl, but she’s okay. As for myself, I fear ‘the lady doth protest too much’ comes into mind when one tries to convince a stranger they’re not a murderer.”

“My fiancé’s a policeman, so I’m sure he’d catch you-” Kieren started to laugh, then stopped, and his face froze. “Ex-fiancé,” he corrected. “Fuck.”

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough day.” Simon shot him a sympathetic look.

“The bastard left me for a girl at work. Eighteen, blonde and thin as a bloody rail. Straight out of school and into his bed.” Simon raised an eyebrow, giving Kieren a look up and down. The man wasn’t exactly overweight himself, nor was he unattractive in the slightest. Couldn’t be a day over twenty five. The ex must have had a gay-scare from his parents, wanting kids and a wife in order to get daddy’s inheritance.  

“A policeman you say?”

“DI. I was a PC when we met. Made me give it up, couldn’t have a ruddy relationship at work that’d blow his own career.”

“Maybe he’ll come back, when the girl gets tired of him.”

“Ha!” Kieren laughed a mirthful laugh, kicking his boots against the car. “Back? I wouldn’t take him back if he crawled up to me on his hands and knees through glass.”

“‘Atta boy.” Simon grinned, pleased at the man’s feistiness. He was a fighter was this Kieren.

“You married?” Kieren asked in return, allowing himself, Simon noted happily, to smile.

“No... work was always my first love, too dedicated to the cause.”

Kieren hummed, and seemed about to ask another question when he froze, watching through the front window. “STOP, stop, stop, oh shit, that’s Boxer’s car.”

Before they’d even stopped, Kieren jumped out of the car, running towards the policemen hauling the silver vehicle out of the ditch to the side of the road. The car was all but torn in two, the metal crushed and dented.

Kieren was stopped by an officer, who he turned to. “What happened?” he asked as Simon came up behind them.

“Car came straight across the junction last night without stopping, hit by a truck. Driver didn’t stand a chance.”

“Christ.” Kieren paled, taking a step back, walking into Simon, who put a hand on his shoulder. “Jesus, that must have been- I didn’t even say goodbye to him…” Kieren allowed himself to be pulled back towards the car, was sat down in the passenger seat and handed a bottle of water.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, standing over him. “Were you close?”

“Not… not really, acquaintances, you know, more my friend’s friend, but-” Kieren frowned, staring at a spot on the floor. “I always remember registration numbers, force of habit. Knew it was his car as soon as I saw it.” He took a gulp of water, his eyes looking like clouds had cleared from them. “I can’t believe it, he was never a slapdash driver, we used to tease him for it driving like an old man. He’d never speed a junction.”

“Truck driver had a dashcam,” the police officer said, standing nearby. “Watched it meself.”

Kieren nodded, slowly, and the officer walked off, back to the crash site. “Did you still want to go to your friend’s house?” Simon asked, crossing round to the driver’s side.

“No, no, she’ll be… she knew him better, she and her husband will want the day alone. I guess I’ll… I’ll walk back to the hotel.”

Simon frowned as Kieren started to pull his stuff together, watching his face fall into darkness. “Don’t go back,” he said, startling himself. “You’ll only spend the day by yourself, and regret is a lonely friend. Come with me to Winterborn, keep me company.”

Kieren appraised him for a second, fingers working on his backpack, but he seemed to find truth in Simon’s words and got back into the car.

When they pulled up the drive, Simon turned off the engine and gathered his stuff, but stopped Kieren from leaving and hushed him. “Look-” He pointed at the side-door of the household, where his student’s wife was talking to their doctor. The doctor leaned in to kiss her.

Simon frowned. “I wonder if they know Mr. Boxer’s er… passed on.”

“Isn’t that… Freddie’s wife? Jesus.” Kieren gripped his backpack tighter. “This is the Preston house?”

“You know them?”

“Only as well as I know- knew, Boxer. Who’s the man?”

“Freddie’s doctor, Amir.”

Kieren closed his eyes and rested his head against the car seat.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine it’s- a lot has happened. I’m kind of overwhelmed.”

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

“...no, no it’s fine, I’ll- I’ll stay.” Kieren took in a deep breath, and when he next opened his eyes he looked renewed. “Let’s go.”

-

“...So you’re a gardener?” Kieren asked as he watched Simon take buckets and a variety of equipment from his boot. Kieren was handed a pair of gardening gloves which he pulled on, and then some shears and a knife.

“Plant pathologist. More a bookworm than an earthworm.” Kieren followed Simon out to the row of silver trees and scanned the garden as Simon worked.

“So Freddie hired you to look after the diseased trees while Amir looks after him?”

“Sounds about right.” Simon was cutting bits of the red sap off of the tree and putting them in sandwich bags, using a sharpie to name the bags according to which tree they were from.

In his scanning of the immaculate rose and lavender bushes, Kieren’s eyes caught on a humongous, overgrown monster of a plant, topped with ugly white flowers. “Jesus, look at that.”

Simon looked up and followed Kieren’s gaze to the thing and nodded. “Heracleum mantegazzianum.”

Kieren raised an eyebrow. “Bless you.”

“Giant hogsweed. Don’t go near it, it burns skin. We’ll have to call a specialist to have it removed. Though from the looks of it,” Simon pointed to where a couple of the trunk-like stems had been hacked through, “It looks like someone’s made an attempt at it.”

“Didn’t you say Freddie’d had his house lady in the garden?”

“She was a little old lady, though. Can’t see her attacking a ten foot hogsweed and winning.” Kieren snorted at the picture, imagining a doddering old lady wielding a machete against triffid-like plants.

“That’s her, over there.” Simon nodded in a woman’s direction and Kieren’s mental image was crushed. No longer the kindly grandma, he saw that the house lady was a harsh thing, wrinkled eyes and a cruel turn of the lips.

“Withersedge.”

Simon stood again, frowning. “Pardon?”

“Oh, no, it’s just- when I saw her, the first thing in my head was ‘Withersedge’.”

“‘O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither’d from the lake, and no birds sing.’ Keats.”

Kieren was impressed, and said as much, but something niggled at the back of his mind, telling him the lady wasn’t making him remember his GCSE english lessons. He’d have to look into it later.

“I’m done here, did you want to go inside and see Freddie and Haley?”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll leave it for another day. Back to the hotel?”

Simon nodded, stuffing samples into his bag and heading back to the car.

-

When they got back, Simon was greeted at reception by Zoe. “Your stuff,” she said, handing him various bags of equipment and clothing. “And a letter, too, apparently three other members of the faculty have received them.”

“Thanks, you needn’t have waited. Zoe Kelly this is Kieren- er…”

“Kieren Walker.” Kieren held out his hand, shaking Zoe’s.

“I’m Simon’s research student, also his lab assistant and part-time courier.”

“I’m uh, a sad tag-along. We met last night.”

Zoe’s brows creased, but her interest in him didn’t last long and she redirected her attention towards Simon, who was opening the letter.

“...Is this a joke? Who else got these letters?”

“Uhm, Brian, Helen and Cherie?”

“Right.” Simon sighed. “You should go, Zoe, you have work to do.” Zoe tried to stay longer, but Simon waved her off, all but pushing her out of the hotel before they returned to the dining room.

“What’s wrong?” Kieren asked, watching Simon’s face.

“He’s fired me. He was only here with me yesterday, the devil faced bastard, ‘you have as much time as you need.’” Simon stuffed the letter in his pocket and fell into one of the dining room’s chairs. “‘We were good together’, he said, the bastard was going to have me as his trophy wife so I couldn’t complain when he gave my job to someone younger.”

“Jesus, this day keeps getting better, doesn’t it.”

“15 years at that university, on track to become senior lecturer, PhD- 32, and sacked.”

“They had to cut you down, you obviously got too big.”

Simon’s mouth closed and he took a second before laughing. “It’s nice of you to think so.”

“I’m sure anyone will hire you, you sound like you come with a loaded CV.”

Simon regarded his fingers, picking some of the dirt from the Preston’s garden from beneath his fingernails. “Perhaps.” He was silent for a while, and Kieren took the seat opposite him, both thinking about the days they’d had. “I could do with a drink.”

“I doubt anyone would blame you.” Kieren flashed a small smile and went to find a waitress.

Simon supposed he still had a job, technically, or at least for now. He would finish finding out what was wrong with Freddie’s trees before he thought about what to do next.

-

Simon headed out to the Prestons’ house earlier the next morning, wanting to collect some dirt samples, but knowing Kieren would be nursing a sweet headache after the night they’d had. A drink had turned to a bottle, drunk too quick and too angrily in too short a time, the silence after becoming too dreadful for either to stand. Their temperaments were melancholy, and demanded being alone, so after ten they said their goodnights at their doors and continued drinking alone. Kieren had taken the bigger bottle.

Knowing he’d only be twenty-odd minutes, he let himself into the garden without talking with the owners of the house, occupied by his own mind until a rustling drew his gaze to a woman, the housekeeper, creeping through the bushes with what looked like a knife. Simon frowned. It looked a lot more like a knife used in butchery than gathering herbs, so he followed her, keeping behind walls and out of sight.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Potts, was also holding a black plastic bin liner, that looked like it had something heavy weighing it down, and a cold sense of dread overcame Simon as he watched her turn a corner. Simon waited a few seconds in case she were to look over her shoulder and turned- just as he heard a scream and a heavy thud. Heart beating fast, Simon peered out from the wall to see a man lying on the path outside the household- he spun, trying to look for Mrs. Potts, but he couldn’t see her, instead watching as Amir came running across the gardens to crouch beside the man, took his pulse, took out his phone and, presumably called for an ambulance.

Not a minute later, Haley came running from the other direction, kneeling over what must have been Freddie.

-

“Then the ambulance came,” Simon concluded, sitting on his bed with Kieren hovering above him.

“And?”

“He must have fallen, from his room. I saw his bedroom overlooked the gardens.”

Kieren crossed his arms and paced slightly, not looking at Simon. “Do you think Haley or Amir pushed him off?”

“They looked scared, concerned, and they didn’t know I was there.”

“What did they say?” Kieren asked, slowly, as if he didn’t really want to hear.

“I was behind a bush. I couldn’t hear well.”

“...What were you doing behind a bush?”

“Hiding.” Simon shrugged. “Because you said you were scared of the housekeeper, I was hiding from her. She had a knife and a binbag.”

“God, maybe she pushed Freddie?”

“She can’t have done, I was with her seconds before he fell.”

Both sighed and Kieren came to sit beside him on the bed.

“...Rick’s mother wears hats like Mrs. Potts.”

“Kieren...” Simon sighed again, his tone warning.

“Eighteen, Si!”

Simon tried not to feel too pleased that he’d already worked his way into nickname terms with Kieren. “She’ll get old like the rest of us.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Simon snorted at Kieren’s crossed arms, his child-like petulance.

“And how old are you, mister fresh-out-of school?”

“Twenty five,” Kieren said, affronted.

“Oh really, well I certainly couldn’t tell,” Simon teased, pulling himself together. “How’re you with hospitals?”

“Er- not great, why?”

“I want to go and see if Freddie is okay, if you’d like to join me.”

-

Their visit to the hospital had been a quick one, sneaking through the corridors lest Haley or Amir ask why they had come.

“What was wrong with his skin?” Kieren asked, pulling his hoodie closer. Freddie had been alive but unconscious, his blistered skin unwrapped from its bandages so that he could breathe easier.

“Dermatitis. A worse form of eczema.”

“Doesn’t look like any eczema i’ve ever seen.”

“It actually looks better than yesterday, it was bloodier the first time I saw him.”

Kieren frowned. “So first one partner, then the other.” He ran his fingers through his hair and a grimace worked it’s way onto his features. “I wonder what happens to the business when Freddie dies?”

“Their wives?” Simon asked, knowing neither partner had children. “That’s a motive and suspects, huh.”

Kieren nodded, frowning. “Go and see Haley?”

-

Simon’s driving, despite the rickety feel, was surprisingly calm. Surprising for Kieren because every driver he’d encountered on the English country roads drove like they were straight out of Mad Max, and had no chill about turning sharp corners on roads that only fit one car at a time at about fifty miles an hour. His parking too was neat and smooth, made sure he wasn’t in anyone’s way.

So, when they approached the Preston’s mansion and Simon swerved to a stop, swearing under his breath, and leapt out, pulling the keys with him, Kieren could feel his heart against his chest. He watched as Simon bent next to the other car in the driveway, face almost pressed against the glass of the driver’s side so that he could look inside.

“This’s his car. He’s here.” Simon’s eyes narrowed as Kieren closed his door, less of a slam then Simon had done, and strode off towards the front door, which he all but punched through.

“I want to see professor Weston,” he said in lieu of greeting, his voice barely restrained.

“I’ve no doubt.” Mrs. Potts stood her ground in the doorway and barred his entrance, but he let out a growl and pushed past her into the living room like a bloodhound who’d caught the scent of its victim.

“Simon, I didn’t think you’d be here, what a surprise-” John stood, clutching documents to his chest like a shield.

“You have some fecking nerve showing your face around here.”

“Look, Simon, I can explain…” Weston attempted a weak smile, taking a step forward as if going to hug him.

“You cheap, grisly, low rent, fuking bastard-” at each word, Simon took a step forward, bristling with each one. Standing together they were about the same height, but from Kieren’s view, it looked like Simon was towering over the grey-haired man he assumed was John Weston, Simon’s boss-come-ex-lover.

Simon took a breath to consider John and then floored him with a single punch to the chin.

“Oh my god-” Kieren’s hand jumped to his mouth as he stood, shocked, watching a panting Simon standing over the man. And then Simon balked and raced out of the room, Kieren close behind.

“That was sensational,” Kieren laughed as Simon’s eyes widened in shock, the two of them power-walking back to the jeep. “What weight do you usually fight at?”

“I’ve never punched anyone before.”

“Lucky for you you had a policeman on scene as witness, huh.” Kieren laughed as Simon stalled the jeep, and was still laughing when they arrived back at the hotel.

“I don’t understand how I ever fancied him,” Simon said as they made their way to his room, or their new base of operations. “I thought he was cool at one point, can you imagine?”

Kieren snorted. He’d only seen the guy grovelling and then lying on the floor, so he’d not seen a particularly flattering version of the man, but he hadn’t been… unattractive. He refrained from saying so, instead rooting in his backpack and pulling out a bottle. “This’ll cheer you up.”

Simon frowned, but accepted it, standing to look for the glasses left by his bathroom tap. “I need calming down, not cheering up.” As he returned, he scooped his laptop up and brought it back with him to the bed.

“To hell with men,” Kieren proposed as a cheers, and Simon shook his head, an easy smile pulled out of him. “To hell with men,” he repeated.

“What’s the laptop for, going to stalk his Facebook and untag the photos of you?” Kieren sat on the bed next to him, a comfortable distance not to be too distracting.

“Is that what you kids do after you have breakups now?” Simon asked, receiving a whack on his arm. “We’re googling Withersedge, Lord knows how much it’s been on my mind.” He opened google, thankful that past him had closed all tabs not directly linked with work, and typed the word in. “It’s a place…” he clicked on the first link. “A village. He scrolled down the wikipedia page, until he hit a photo that looked vaguely interesting, and Kieren gasped.

“God, yes, ‘The wicked witch of Withersedge’! Delia Kettle, that’s her!” He pointed at the young woman on-screen, perhaps only thirty, wearing the same hat and everything.

“At least she has a  sense of humour.” Simon grinned at Kieren’s confusion. “Mrs. Kettle has become Mrs. Potts? What did she do anyway, this wicked witch?”

“She was on my exam, in the policing academy. It was an unsolved murder, killed her husband or something, was given the nickname by the village because she sold herbs from her garden, but if  she didn’t like you, she gave you something bad...”

Simon hummed, clicking on the woman’s own wikipedia link, but there seemed little other information. “Was she jailed?”

“I can find out, er, can I borrow your mobile again?” Simon handed it over, amused. “Hi, can I talk to Sergeant Walker please?”

“Your mum? Dad?” Simon asked while they waited.

“Sister. Jem! Yeah, as good as I’ll get after Rick. No, no, this isn’t a mopey call, yeah I know you’re the successful one with a job you don’t want to lose, listen. I need you to find me some information. Mrs. Kettle, 1972. She poisoned her husband and she got away with it. Jem?”

There were some muffled noises, and Simon took the opportunity to turn the call to loudspeaker. “Haven’t you got a brother?” They heard Jem ask in a poisonous voice, and then another voice scoffing. “Jeez, Kier, fine, fine, I’ll let you know. This number a new one?”

“Er no, it’s my uh, friend’s, I’m looking into this thing with him.” Kieren pressed the loudspeaker button again and hurriedly pressed the phone against his ear before Jem could say anything too uncouth. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, thanks, bye.”

“No longer a strange stranger am I?” Simon asked, innocently taking a sip from his glass.

“You’re the worst.”

-

The next morning there were thankfully less hangovers involved, and they managed to pull up to the house at nine AM sharp. Taking buckets and shovels round through to the garden, they set themselves up in one corner, away from the main house.

“Right,” Kieren said, putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the land. “I’m good at digging. Where do you want me?”

“We’re only taking soil samples,” Simon said, eying the gardening fork Kieren had managed to unearth from somewhere. “You’ll need a trowel, but I don’t have a spare. We could go look for one in the shed?” He pointed at a well-maintained wooden building only a couple of metres from them, looking unlike a regular garden’s tool shack, and more akin to a house in itself, with its windows and the ivy growing up its walls.

They managed to jimmy the lock, but frowned at one another as they revealed not a dusty, cob-web and snail-infested tool house, but what again looked more akin to a house, with a recently-used fireplace, flowers and herbs drying from the rafters, and a fully-stocked kitchenette.

“What’s this, hydrocortisone cream?” Kieren asked, picking up an industrial-sized tub of the stuff.

“Probably for Freddie’s blisters. Why they’d keep it out here…”

Kieren sniffed it, but it just smelt like moisturiser, so he dabbed a little and rubbed it on his hand. “Just cream.”

“Looks like someone was trying to start a fire?” Simon said, poking at strips of bark-like material lying in the fireplace. He knelt down, Kieren following, so that they could inspect the remnants of the fire.

“OI.” Both startled, falling backwards and scrambling away from the mad, croaky voice of Mrs. Potts. “Poking about ain’t allowed! This is private property!”

“We were looking for a trowel?” Kieren tried, but the woman closed in, and they found themselves shrivelling under her menacing gaze.

“Clear off, I tells you!”

The two did as they were commanded, jogging out of the hut and across the grass back to their stuff.

“My heart- I thought I was going to faint,” Simon admitted, putting a hand to his chest. “I thought she had a knife.”

Kieren was rasping himself, and clutched his own shirt, needing a second to calm himself down. “God my hand’s so itchy,” he said, suddenly, starting to scratch the skin. “Jesus, look-” he held out his hand, which had turned a bright, blistered red.

“...that must be why Freddie’s got better at the hospital,” Simon mused, still looking at Kieren’s hand.

“That witch has been trying to make him worse, putting the hogsweed in his cream!” Kieren looked towards the stumpy stems that’d been cut off of the weed. “The shavings in the fireplace, the knife and bin bag…”

“But hogsweed is a phytophototoxic... It reacts with the sunlight on the skin. Far as I know, Freddie hasn’t been outside for months. And nobody’s ever died of it, either.”

“No... but it could get infected, get septicemia, make him want to kill himself.” Kieren mussed his hair, looking between shed and house. “Christ, we have to warn Haley about her.”

“You can’t go in there alone, what if she does something to you.”

“She’s not gonna do anything to me.”

“Let me go,” Simon said, pulling off his gardening gloves. “You need to go see Amir about your hand, warn him about what she’s being doing to Freddie. You know him better, he’ll listen to you.” Kieren wanted to object, but saw the sense in Simon’s words so he nodded. “Here, you’ll need these.” Simon rooted in his jeans for his car keys, chucking them at Kieren, followed by his mobile.

“What about you?”

“Once I tell Haley, we’ll call the police on the landline.”

Simon turned towards the house after he’d seen Kieren off and started inside. “Haley?” he called, cleaning the dirt off of his boots on the welcome mat. “Er, hello? Haley?” Hearing no reply, Simon investigated the first floor, but came up empty. He eyed the stairs. Maybe Haley was cleaning their bedroom now that Freddie was in hospital?

“Mrs. Preston?” he tried, quieter this time, if only because it felt more of an invasion once he reached the top floor. He knocked on the bedroom door but again, no reply, so he entered.

Another pot of hydrocortisone cream sat on their bedside table, and Simon made sure to steer clear, instead walking almost straight into a giant machine hidden behind the door. It was as tall as he was, white, and seemed made out of lightbulbs, like a… Simon’s face lit up as he switched it on, bathing him in blue UV.

“Sunlight,” he whispered to himself, the puzzle clicking together nicely in his head. As he switched the machine off, he heard footsteps, and suddenly his success didn’t feel quite so victorious. He attempted to look natural, while also glancing for quick exits, but let out a relieved sigh when Haley entered.

“Mrs. Preston, I was looking for you. I need to warn you about something.”

-

Illegal or no, Kieren called Amir while he was driving, asking him to meet Kieren at the hotel they were staying at. Luckily, Amir had said, he was doing his house-calls, and would be in the area in ten minutes.

“Hm, this is a bad burn,” the doctor said as he wound Kieren’s hand in bandages, occupying the empty dining room.

“Like I said, the witch is putting hogsweed in Freddie’s cream, making his blisters worse.”

“I know you mean well, Kieren, but she’s their housemaid. Has always been their housemade. I can barely remember a time when she wasn’t there.”

Kieren looked at his hand, inwardly asking why such an injury would not be enough to convince anyone, when his pocket started vibrating, startling him. “Sorry, I need to take this,” he said, seeing his sister’s number on the screen.

“Jem?”

“Nothing much on Mrs. Potts, Kier. The police knew she was guilty, right, but they couldn’t do nothing about it but watch her, put some guys on her tail like. But 1990s, she moved away, nothing heard of her since.”

“Oh,” Kieren sighed, dejected. He’d so hoped Jem would be able to give the two of them the damning evidence they needed.

“Her daughter kept getting into trouble, though, real asshole. Assaulting teachers, some of them quite bad, one nearly died, had to get his stomach pumped. Anyway, if you see a Hayley Kettle roaming around, steer clear, Kier.”

“Right, okay, thanks Jem.” Kieren sighed and went to end the call but froze. “Wait- Jem, what did you say?”

“Er, assaulting teachers, had to get his stomach pumped, Hayley Kettle?”

“Her daughter’s name is Hayley.” Kieren turned to Amir, whose own features seemed intent on looking crestfallen. “Thank you Jem, I love you, talk later.” This time he hung up, needing the doctor to understand. “Diana Kettle’s daughter is Hayley. They’ve been working together.”

“No, she, she’s loving, she cares about Freddie, they’ve been in love since they met.”

“And where’d you fit into their little happy family?” Kieren asked, already standing and making his way towards Simon’s jeep.

“Mrs. Preston and I have a strictly professional relationship-”

“That’s probably why she was leading you on, make sure the doctor at the inquiry didn’t make waves.” Kieren felt his stomach clench. “Simon’s alone, he went to tell her that the witch was the killer.”

-

“What did you want to warn me about?” Hayley asked, a cautious smile on her lips, which Simon could hardly blame her for. A creepy gardener poking about her bedroom, anyone would be cautious.

“Your housekeeper, Mrs. Potts. We think she’s been attempting to kill your husband.”

Hayley’s eyebrow quirked and her smile made dimples appear in one of her cheeks. “Mrs. Potts? That’s absurd, she loves Freddie, she has no reason to want to kill him.”

“Poisoners rarely have a motive other than their insanity.” Simon went to reach for the pot of cream, but Hayley shook her head, a sad gesture that made him pause for thought.

“We should ask her.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up and he felt his heart stop altogether. “I’m sorry?”

“If you’re so sure about her, the least we could do is to ask her to her face, is it not? Give her her own voice, let her voice her own objections.” Hayley cocked her head to one side, perfectly coiffed hair spilling over her shoulder. “Mrs. Potts?” she called, at the top of her voice. “MRS. POTTS WILL YOU COME HERE PLEASE?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Simon tried to laugh, but it came out more strangled than humorous as forceful footsteps approached down the corridor.

“What do you want?” the old woman asked as she entered, her gait speedy despite her form.

“This man thinks you tried to kill Freddie, Mummy.”

“‘Mummy’,” Simon repeated, and swore, taking a step back before he even knew what he was doing.

“Make him hurt.”

Potts lurched forwards and drew a knife from the folds of her skirt, closing on Simon even as Hayley was shouting her encouragement. Simon tripped over his own legs trying to turn, to find an exit that wasn’t blocked by a pair of knife-wielding women, and saw the balcony Freddie had jumped off of only days before. Crashing through the open doors, he barricaded them behind him using the metallic garden-furniture that had been left there, drew in a deep breath and screamed for help.

He heard the house’s landline ring, and then the smash of shattered glass as the older Potts broke through one of the panes of glass on the balcony door. Simon cried for help again, looking down at the garden below and wondering on his chances at surviving the fall. Probably better than the chances of escaping the razor-sharp knife.

He clambered over the guard-rail and spared a final look back-

-to see Kieren burst through the doors of the bedroom and take in the scene. Kieren’s body, acting before his brain could catch up, ran towards the woman waving her knife through shattered glass panes, tackling her to the ground, while besides him he heard Amir shout for Hayley. Seconds later, Jem and her partner burst through, making sure neither fought back.

Before his mind had time to process what was happening, Kieren spotted Simon, clinging on to the balcony’s outer rail, and looking in equal measures terrified, stupefied and amazed. Seeing he was now safe, he started to pull himself back up, sheepish at being watched by a group of strangers.

“Are you okay?” Kieren asked, checking him over for cuts even as he did.

“Pride in shatters, heart like a drum, but otherwise fine. What about you?”

“I’m good, that’s what little sisters are for, right?” They watched as Jem and Henry pulled a squirming mother and daughter out of the room, handcuffed, towards the police-cars waiting outside.

“I think I need a nap,” Simon declared to the room. “Maybe I am old.”

“I could join you in that,” Kieren admitted, rubbing his side. “I feel like i’ve been hit by a truck.”

They’d both made it halfway back to the hotel before either wondered if Kieren had meant anything else by the words.

-

“The fungus is from Malaysia,” Simon told Freddie, a week later. The week had passed quickly in police interviews, lab tests and hospital visits, but now Freddie was sat besides them in his wheelchair, skin all but returned to normal but for the slight scarring and pink-ish hue, that the doctors promised would be back to a regular tone within the year.

“Spray the trees once a monce for six months, and you’ll need to cut those two out completely. It’s a big job, but worth it.”

Freddie nodded. “Thank you, Simon. And you, Kieren. For everything. Without your help... I’d probably be six feet under by now. Thank god for trees, huh.”

“Thank god for trees,” Simon and Kieren echoed, toasting imaginary glasses. “Do you want some help getting back to the house?” Kieren asked, but Freddie shook his head. “It’s a nice day, and the first I’ve seen for a long time… would you mind leaving me out here? I’d like to enjoy my garden.” The two of them smiled and made their way back to the carpark.

“I suppose this is what they call freedom,” Simon sighed, happily, leaning against the bonnet of his car. “Me without a job, you without a fiancé.”

“What Freddie said, ‘thank god for trees’, it made me really happy, you know. God I love trees, I’m really pissed off with humans.”

“You’re just pissed off with Rick,” Simon snorted. “You know you hadn’t mentioned him for at least 30 minutes?”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Kieren asked, attempting lightness, but an uncertainty tinted it. “That is good, right?”

 

 

 

 


	2. Arabica and the Early Spider

# Episode 2- Arabica and the Early Spider

 

“How’s it going Mr. Monroe?”

Simon stood from where he’d been kneeling in the mud, putting a hand across his forehead to protect his eyes from the sun. “Fine, thank you- you have a lovely selection of wild flowers here, and er, Japanese knotweed.”

His current employer, one Patty Connolly’s lips tugged down, looking like she wasn’t sure what to make of that. “That’s a bad thing I take it?”

“It’s an invasive species.”

Patty swept a lock of her blonde-ish hair behind and ear as she looked around the garden, picking out the clumps of knotweed. “Well… Nev said he wants a wild garden?”

“Not really a wildflower,” Simon said, ripping one of the vine-like tangles out and dumping it into his wheelbarrow. “The Victorians imported it, it kills everything and you have to take it out manually.”

“Weedkiller?” Patty asked, tentative.

“Noo,” Simon elongated the word, smiling slightly, sounding mock-offended by the thought.

“Oh right, well er, carry on pulling. Before that though, can you spare five minutes?” she asked, hands on hips, smile growing. “Tea?”

“I want to show you something first, though, if you don’t mind?” Patty followed behind him as they trecked through the lavish grounds, waving at the man working the digger in the centre of the quad. “Right, look at this.”

Simon knelt, beckoning her down with a finger, the other hand hovering over a tiny group of flowers.

“Are those- orchids?” Patty asked, leaning in closer, voice slightly amazed. “They’re amazing, they can’t be wild.”

“They’re wild,” Simon assured, smile growing. “This one’s the ‘Early Spider Orchid.’

“I didn’t know they grew in England?”

“Yeah, and this one’s really rare, it’s a protected species, so you should register it.” Simon enjoyed the look of wonder first-time horticulturalists got when they really started looking at what was in their gardens, the glow of appreciation for nature that you could really miss when all one saw was daffodils and roses. “Anyway-”

Simon was cut off by a shout from the centre of the garden and both startled to standing.

“Have a look at this!” They looked at each other and set about running, back towards the digger.

-

Kieren grumbled to himself as he packed the jeep with manure for the garden they were working on. While Simon got the nice job of wheeling weeds from wildgarden to compost heap, he’s been given the all-too-unpleasant job of searching for a farm and literally shovelling shit for hours. And then, to top it off, he had to drive the shitty jeep, full of shit, back to the mansion.

As he pulled up though, he spotted flashing blue and red and sped up slightly, brow creasing when he saw the yellow police-tape around the garden they’d been working in. “Oh god.” His heart only started beating again when he saw the massive green granddad jumper he knew as Simon’s, and blood-free too. He instantly regretted having worried when he saw Simon’s face.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked as he jumped out of the jeep, chucking him the keys.

“You know the pond David was digging for us?” Simon asked, and Kieren peered around him to where the digger was. “He found a grave.”

“Oh” Kieren frowned, crossing his arms as he watched the group of policemen, pathologists and curious bystanders crowd around taking photos.

“Alright, we can all go home!” One of the pathologists called, waving what looked like a rib-bone. “It’s just a horse.” Kieren noted that only half of the noises made around him were sighs of relief, and shot Simon a look for sounding disappointed.

“Why would anyone bury a horse in the middle of the lawn?” Simon asked, almost to himself.

“Could it be Arabica?” Kieren looked past Simon to Patty, who joined them watching the policemen pack up. At their curious looks, she continued. “It was a bit of a scandal at the time, maybe about seven years ago? Stolen from the stables when I worked there. Come, I’ll show you.”

Kieren shrugged at Simon and they followed her into her house, accepting her offer for tea as they went. They’d been working on the mansion’s garden for a week now, but had never had the chance to go inside the main building through the front door- it was decorated to the t, and wasn’t as gaudy as some places: there was a lack, Kieren was noted thankfully, of mounted deer heads. He’d seen too many of those these last few months working with Simon.

“Who’s this pretty girl?” Simon asked as he was handed the photograph, and Patty laughed.

“That’s Arabica, with me and Joanna, she was my best friend at the time.”

“And she hasn’t aged a day, have you dear?” Patty grinned, delighted as her husband walked in: their popstar host and owner of the mansion. He was past his prime now, well into his forties, but he still dressed the part, all in white and decorated in silver. Kieren found it endearing, like his dad’s jeans. Simon had been getting better and not outright laughing every time the man walked into the room.

“Apparently the bones were a horse, dear,” Patty said, replacing the photo on their mantlepiece.

“Well…” Nev sighed, falling into his sofa. “After the flood, all those cellars 4 foot deep in water, and the arson, horse bones are hardly surprising.”

“Arson?” Kieren repeated, worried. They were staying in the house’s annexed guest-house afterall.

“The town says this house is cursed,” Patty said, before her voice turned hopeful. “But three’s the charm, right? Now we’ve had our unlucky number, we can focus on getting that garden pretty again. So tell me, what’ve you got planned next?”

-

“Must be nice to have your own house with your own gardens, and an annexe to put your guests up,” Kieren sighed, trying to work the knots out of his shoulder with one hand. He fell back onto the bed he’d claimed as his own (further from the window to keep out the draft) and tried to feel like he didn’t sound like he was a fifty-year old woman. He watched as Simon crossed the room, dropping his clothes in the laundry basket by the door before going round to his own single bed a couple of metres away, separated by their shared bedside-cabinet.

“Must be nice to be rich.” Simon got into his bed and yawned- at least the both of them got to bed at a decent time nowadays, with all of the physical labour they did all day.  

“Must be nice to be rich,” Kieren agreed. They weren’t badly-paid, and he didn’t regret staying with Simon to do this strange job, but they certainly weren’t about to buy their own manor house, and when Patty had offered to put them up, free of charge, three meals included, they’d not declined. “Shall I turn the lights out?”

Simon made a general moaning sound, which Kieren took as an agreement and turned off the lights. “He’s not like you expect, is he?” Kieren asked after getting comfortable. Even the guest-rooms had more expensive bedding than Kieren had at home. “I used to have all his albums when I was 12.”

There was a hum, another agreement from Simon’s side of the room, which Kieren accepted until there was a quiet addition. “...I was a little more than 12.”

Kieren smiled to himself, but could feel himself nodding off, exhaustion catching up on him.

-

A gunshot shocked Simon awake, and he was out of his bed before he was fully awake. He glanced at Kieren, but it had sounded like it had come from outside, and Kieren was still snoring. Simon unlocked the door, stepping out and squinting to see if he could see anyone. “Kieren,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Kieren!”

The sound of the crunch of gravel and a revving car made Simon run out into the path, from which he was nearly knocked from by the speeding car.

“Christ, Simon, what’s happening?” Kieren was by his side, pulling him back from the path when they both spotted what had happened. Quickly checking there was no other gunman around, they crossed the road and onto the grass, where a lump of white was lying, stained with red.

“Nev’s been shot.” Simon whispered, voice sounding hollow. He kneeled down to take his pulse. “Dead.” He looked up at Kieren, who was turning a similar shade of white, and then around when he heard someone running towards them.

“Patty, are you okay?” Kieren asked as she joined them, only to catch her as she fell, near landing on her husband’s body.

“I’m going to call the police, okay? Kieren, take the Mrs. inside.”

-

Simon was trapped in the Connolly’s expansive dining-room with police detective Maxine Martin, who looked like she ate eels for breakfast. They were sat around the wooden dining table, a table that could probably seat at least fifteen people, and the detective was tapping her pen on the table, a sound that near-echoed in the morning’s silence.

“This car, can you describe it?”

“I only saw it for a second.”

“Colour?”

“It was night, Ma’am, er, dark.”

“And what about your…. friend?”

“Kieren?” Simon asked, and the inspector nodded. “What about him?”

“You were in the same room, did he not hear the gunshot? See the car?”

“He sleeps deeper than I do,” Simon said, leaning back slightly in his chair. The inspector stopped tapping her pen.

“Not married, are you, Mr. Monroe.”

“No, Ma’am, I’m not.”

“And you and Mr. Walker, you… live together, do you?”

Simon frowned. “No?” Simon opened his mouth again, then closed it. “Sorry Ma’am, what has this got to do with the investigation?”

“You tell me, Mr. Monroe. Alibis and all that, need to know what you two were… doing in that room of yours.”

Simon’s jaw clenched and he stood. “You’re not arresting me. That’s all the information I have to give you.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Monroe,” the inspector called after him, and Simon could just feel the smile leaking out of the woman.

“You don’t look happy,” Kieren groaned as Simon exited the house and headed towards where he was sat outside, on a garden bench.

“The inspector riled me up.”

“Who, Martin? What did she say?”

“It wasn’t what, it was how... Asking insinuating questions, sounding like she was smirking but keeping this dead-eyed look on me.”

“She’s got a job to do,” Kieren said, eyebrow lifting. “It’s how they get information out of people.”

“Well I don’t like it,” Simon grumbled, not waiting for Kieren to follow before going for the jeep.

“Patty says she wants us to finish, said the garden was like Nev’s baby and she wants us to do it just like he asked.”  

Simon sighed a sigh of relief, diving for a pitchfork in the backseat. “Stress-relief.”

Kieren snorted as he picked up his own shovel, the two of them going back out across the grass.

“Do you think he was meeting someone?” Simon asked.

“Who, Nev? Why?” Kieren hefted the spade so he was carrying it over his shoulder, pace slowing.

“Why else would he be outside?” Simon wondered, “Unless he heard a noise? Went to chase them off?”

“Poacher?” Kieren suggested.

“Get a lot of poachers up in South Kensington, Mr. Policeman?” Simon snorted, “He hardly has an elephant farm to protect-” For all of Simon’s suaveness, his foot caught and he stacked, barely saving himself from falling face-first into the dirt.

“You alright there?” Kieren tried between laughs, and Simon growled at him, turning his attention from the man to the cause of his bruised ego. “Who’s been digging in our garden?”

There was a shovel mark in the ground, deep enough not just to be the resting spot of someone, but a hasty attempt at digging. “This is only metres from where Nev was shot…” Kieren frowned. “We should tell the police while they’re here.”

“Think they were trying to bury something?” Simon gave the ground a considering look and Kieren groaned.

“Not another horse.”

“Then maybe they were trying to dig something up?”

“What? Buried treasure?” Kieren rolled his eyes and tried to walk away, towards the house, but Simon caught him.

“Maybe Nev saw them, and they shot him.”

“Simon, what are you doing, we should tell the police-” too late, Simon grabbed Kieren’s shovel and attacked the ground, lifting dirt out into a small pile. “Simon, you’re not going to find anythi- ..oh god, that is not a horse.”

Kieren felt his stomach flip as Simon threw down the shovel, kneeling to look at the definitely human hand bones in the grave. “Don’t touch it, whatever you do, I’m going to get the inspector.” Kieren sped off, leaving Simon to guard the bones.

Simon watched him leave, then returned his attention to the hole. He counted four fingers and a thumb, so definitely human, but there was something lodged underneath, which he picked up. It looked like the tip of an antler, but had holes drilled into it. Simon stared at it until he heard voices- he couldn’t exactly put it back, what with his fingerprints on it, so he pocketed it, managing to look like he’d been reaching for his pack of tissues.

“Sir, we’ll need you to stand back, please,” Simon did as he was commanded, taking slow steps backwards, looking for Kieren, but was instead caught by the inspector.

“You’re going to stay with me until we find out what this one is,” she said, and Simon sighed, following the woman back into the dining room.

-

“This one’s human,” the inspector said as she walked in a couple of hours later, and sat across from Simon.

“Opposable thumbs,” Simon smiled. “But thank you for the confirmation.”

The inspector let out a breath that sounded disappointed, bored, like she wanted to arrest Simon on the spot. “Why’d you see fit to dig there?”

“I tripped on a hole, wondered why there was a hole near where the body was found, and decided to see why it was made.”

“Also trained in detective work are we Mr. Monroe?”

“I’m a pathologist,” Simon gritted, picking at his nails.

“A plant pathologist, I seem to remember.” Simon not rising to her bait, the inspector leant back in her chair, locking eyes. “Was your er, friend with you when you decided to go for a dig?”

“What do you mean my ‘er’ friend?”

“I think you’re being over-sensitive, Mr. Monroe.”

“I’m not being in the slightest bit insensitive, Inspector Martin.”

The two stared it out for near-on a minute until there was a knock on the door, and a young constable poked her head in. “Mr. Matthews arrived, Ma’am.”

“The foreman, early as usual.” Martin stood from her seat and smiled at Simon, obligingly, like she knew something he didn’t. “You’re free to go, Mr. Monroe.”

Simon pushed his chair back and attempted to smile back, but how successful the attempt was, he didn’t care. He stalked out of the building and was accosted by Kieren. “You look angrier than before.”

“She- nevermind. Did you hear anything about the body?”

“Female, 18-24, been in the ground for approximately 5 years.”

“So what’s she got to do with the horse?” Simon was handed back his pitchfork and they set off, away, this time, from the crime scenes, and towards the back.

“What’s the horse got to do with anything?” Kieren asked, eyebrows knitting as he plunged his spade into the dirt (and it didn’t come up with any bones.)

“A horse and woman buried at the same time? In the same place?”

“We should keep our noses out, Si… the police’ll do the work this time.” Kieren stopped digging when he noticed Simon hadn’t started, and was staring at the policemen crawling around the house. “Simon. You nearly got killed the last time, because we took it on ourselves. Let them do their work,” he insisted, but Simon didn’t look like he’d heard.

“Maybe a woman has an accident, kills her stable’s prizewinning horse. Then not wanting to tell her husband…”

“-or her father,” Kieren added, begrudgingly,

“Or her father- she kills herself, overcome with guilt.”

“And then, overcome with tidiness she buries herself? Come on, Si, the knotweed needs you more than the police do.”

Simon hummed, unsatisfied, but this time got back to work.

-

“Who’s that, do you think?” Kieren asked as they stood at the bar of the local pub, waiting to order their food. A crabby-looking middle-aged man nursing a pint was glaring a hole into the floor, and caught Kieren’s attention by being the only single person in the pub, a state usually unheard of on a saturday in a farming village.

“That’s Mr. Belfridge,” the barman said, overhearing. “Used to work up at the stables. He’s a chicken farmer now, couple miles down the road.” As if hearing his name, the man looked up and growled, abandoning his drink on the nearest table and walking out.

“Seems like a happy man.” Kieren paid for their meals and thanked the barman.

“It was all that Georgeson business, you hear about that horse up in Nev’s garden?” the barman asked, and they nodded. “Well Arabica used to be Belfridge’s, until Georgeson bought it, if you ask me, he’s the one who should pay for a DNA test on that horse, see if it really was Arabica. Put old Belfridge out of his misery once and all and that.” With that, the barman went off to serve someone else, and the pair shared a conspiratorial look.

-

“You’ll never guess who’s sitting on the other side of the bar,” Simon said, coming back from his trip to the toilet.

“Robert De Niro?”

“Harry Georgeson. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should let the man eat his lunch and then get back to pulling weeds out of someone’s garden?”

Kieren sighed as Simon grinned and turned the way he’d came, leaving the younger man little time to down the rest of his beer and follow after.

“Mr. Georgeson!” Simon sounded like he was pleasantly surprised, which alone must have sounded suspicious. Kieren doubted the word ‘pleasant’ was ever really applied to the man, the boss of the contractors working on the house and garden under the Connollys. The man looked like a cockney geezer, leather jacket and all.

“Er- hello,” the man said, smiling, obviously unsure as to who they were, but not wanting to offend them incase they were important.

“Terrible news about Mr. Connelly.” Simon frowned, and the man looked like he suddenly remembered who they were, if his own frown were anything to go by.

“Yes, yes, just heard about it. Terrible shame.” Georgeson looked about to turn back, but when nobody moved, his forced smile grew pained. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Thank you, that’s kind of you.”

Georgeson’s wife, who either only just took notice of, was less secretive about throwing the two a dirty look.

Simon, who had somehow retained his own drink, sipped some in the strange silence. “We heard you were up at Bishopsbridge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we were, right, Fiona? This is Fiona, my wife. This is, er, Nev and Patty’s gardeners.” Fiona gave a disinterested nod, focusing instead on eating her salad with disdain. “Yeah we uh just got back, stopped in for lunch before heading back up to the house.”

“We were wondering if that horse we found might be Arabica,” Simon started, pretences out of the window.

“Oh really.” Georgeson forked a mouthful of bangers and mash into his mouth, looking completely unaffected.

“Wondered why you didn’t ask the question yourself.”

“I really couldn’t care less about a dead horse,” he replied, shrugging. “Unless it were in my sausages,” he laughed, cutting up another piece and grinning a serpentine grin. “That all boys?”

Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of antler. “You seen this before?”

“No. What is it,” Georgeson asked.

“Simon…” Kieren was gritting his teeth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was found with the dead woman,” Simon hurried, avoiding Kieren’s eye. “In her hand, like she was clutching it.”

“Huh.” Georgeson went back to eating, but Fiona put down her fork.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she excused, before getting up and leaving. As she left, her husband’s face dropped.

“I’d suggest you get on back to your weeding, boys.” The man somehow made the knife he was holding look like a butcher’s one, and the two didn’t need asking twice.

-

“What the fuck, Simon?” Kieren rounded on him as soon as they were in the car, hands gripping the steering-wheel.

“I wanted to know what it was.”

“We’re taking it to the police, right now.”

“I was just curious, Kieren.”

“It’s contaminating the scene of crime.”

“But that inspector was so unpleasant, she would probably have missed it.”

“God-” Kieren jammed the keys in the ignition and turned, getting it to a juddery start. “Bloody thing-” he pulled out of the pub and Simon’s smile grew, knowing he’d won.

“This is a beautiful wagon, don’t be rude to her.”

“Beautiful my arse,” Kieren muttered, and the car spluttered, as if to spite him.

Kieren slowed as they reached the mansion’s gates to see that not only were they closed for the first time since they’d been there, there was a crowd waiting outside. The crowd turned out to be paparazzi, but they pushed through, to where a policeman was waiting outside of the gates.

“‘ere are you anyone?!” Someone in the crowd called, “Are you famous? Oi, tell us your story!”

“Kieren and Simon,” Kieren told the policeman, “Gardeners.” The man nodded and a series of camera flashes went off as the gates started to open.

“Why did he have male gardeners- how old are you love- did you have sexual relations with either Connolley?”

-

“Apparently the skeleton they found was Joanna Branigham,” Kieren told Simon as he came out of the shower, toweling his hair dry. He handed Simon his tablet, displaying the headline.

“The girl in the photo with Patty.” Simon scrolled down, finding a photo near-on identical to the one above the Connolley’s fireplace. “It says she disappeared seven years ago.”

“About a week after the horse,” Kieren confirmed, having read the story, and looked up on Arabica too. “You done in the bathroom?”

Simon nodded and went to sit at the table by the window with Kieren’s tablet, wanting to do some research of his own. He typed Fiona’s name into facebook and found the woman, scrolling through her photos (feeling only slightly guilty that the woman hadn’t privatised the account.)

There was a sound like an explosion in the silence as the glass a metre away from Simon shattered, shot through by a gun from outside and Simon jumped from his chair, tablet abandoned. “KIEREN WE’RE BEING SHOT AT.”

Simon threw the towel he’d had around his neck to the floor and yanked open the door leading outside, scowling. “You missed, you bastard!”  he shouted, stepping out the door and trying to spot movement.

“Fuck- Simon- GET BACK IN-” Simon was physically dragged back inside the room by arms tight around his shoulders, the door slammed in his face. He was pushed to the floor and they lay there panting for a good few minutes until they were sure (or as sure as they could be,) that the attacker was gone.

“What is your fukcing problem?” Kieren asked, pulling him up and then making him sit on the bed.

“I don’t know what came over me.” Simon frowned, clasping his hands in his lap, starting to shake. “I just-” He was handed a glass of whiskey from Kieren’s bottle and took it, the amber liquid quaking.

“You’re in shock, Si, you need to calm down.”

Simon downed the drink in one and handed back the glass. “I think I need 2 more.”

“I’m going to ring the police, try not to faint.”

Simon grabbed Kieren’s wrist and didn’t let go when Kieren tried to budge him away. “Not necessary.”

“You were nearly assassinated, Simon, I think the police are necessary.”

“I found something on the internet.” Simon stood, retrieving the tablet, and handed it back to its owner. “That’s Fiona, seven years ago, with Arabica, Mr. Belfridge, and the coat.”

“The buttons…” Kieren glanced at the antler lying on their bedside table and wilted. It certainly looked like a match. “When was this photo taken?”

“One month before the horse disappeared. Apparently it quite a big story at the time, the horse was doing quite well, Mr. Belfridge was training it, but someone stole it, and he was sued for something like half a million for negligence.”

“By Georgeson?” Kieren asked, and Simon nodded. “Christ, fine, okay, we’ll look into it, but please, just, go to bed, we’ll think about it in the morning.”

Kieren put both tablet and antler out of Simon’s reach and went to turn off the lights.

-

By the time they got to eating breakfast the next morning, the housekeeper had told them that Mrs. Connolly was out, ‘god only knows where’ and that they could make themselves at home without her. They shrugged and got to eating, occupying their own minds until they heard the front door open and a self-satisfied Patty walked in.

“Good morning?” Simon asked, more than greeted as she sat down.

“I ran a pervert off the road and put him in hospital,” she said, grabbing a slice of toast.

Kieren and Simon paused, mid-bite, and turned to one another. “You… put a man in hospital?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Belfridge, the chicken farmer. He got more than he bargained for with Fiona, he’s going get a lot more for Joanna. I’m going to give him hell for what he did.”

“...Fiona? Joanna?” Kieren asked, feeling solidly lost.

“Oh you didn’t know? Fiona ran off with him, lived with Belfridge until he lost all of his money. Then she skipped right on back home to her husband, taking what was left of the bastards money as she went.”

“And Joanna?”

Patty laughed, but laughed like it was a knife, like she was attacking. “Belfridge made her life a misery, every day at the stables. And then one day she just wasn’t there anymore. Not a word. I always knew he’d done it, the murderous bastard.”

Patty put the slice of toast down on her plate as she heard the stampede of feet approaching, and the three were surrounded by police.

“Inspector Martin,” Patty greeted, a weak smile on her face.

“Can you account for this, Mrs. Connolly?”

“What is it?” Patty stood, smile dissipating as she squinted at the plastic bag Martin was holding up.  

“It’s a gun, Mrs. Connolly. Same calibre as the murder weapon and found in your car when we were searching it.”

“I don’t-”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you down to the station with me.”

-

“She didn’t do it.” Simon pulled at the hem of his jumper, as if there was dirt on it.

“Si…”

“Anybody could have planted that gun, there’re people in and out of the place all the time.”

“Simon,” Kieren warned, when Simon refused to look at him, and carried on about the number of people with access to her car. “Simon! This is nothing to do with us, just leave it.”

“Well if you’re going to take that attitude-”

“Jesus, this is serious, okay, we’re out of our depths. I’m taking you to the police and you’re going to give them the button and you’re going to hope we’re lucky and they don’t give you six months for obstructing justice. No complaints.” Kieren shook his head, rejecting all of Simon’s pleading looks until the man got into the passenger side and he could drive them down to the station.

-

They were waiting in Maxine’s office for a half hour before the lady strode in, double taking as she noticed them. She sat down at her desk and gave them a cursory up and down assessment. “You two, eh. Come to confess?”

“We were shot at last night,” Simon said, straightening in the wooden chair. Kieren gave him a look, but Simon silenced him with a similar one.

“Oh. Well I’m sorry. Afraid you’ll get a lot of intolerance in a place like this, nothing I can do about it.”

“Intolerance?” Kieren asked, looking between Maxine and Simon. “Intolerance about what?”

“You know… the way you two… lead your lives.” A darkness descended in Kieren’s eyes as he understood. “I might find it improper,” Maxine said, indicating herself, “But that’s none of my business. We had a man down from London talking about it. ‘Homophobia: Myth or Reality. It opened my eyes, I can tell you. Not the way I was brought up, not very Christian at all. Always brought up to think of that sort of thing as…” She looked at the ceiling and thought about it, as if she were choosing what to have for lunch. “Disgusting.”

“Is this- Is this what she was saying to you?” Kieren asked Simon, turning to him. Simon nodded. “Jesus, this is inexcusable behaviour-”

“Calm down, Kieren.” Simon pushed Kieren back into his chair and fished in his pocket. “The reason we’re really here, Detective, is because we-”

“No, Simon, we’re leaving.”

Kieren once again silenced his objections with a look and Simon trailed after him back to the jeep. “Why didn’t you let me give her the button?”

“Give her the button? It was all I could do not to hit her.” Kieren ran a hand through his hair, hackles still very much raised.

“She has a job to do you know,” Simon quoted, attempting to keep a straight face.  

“Fuck off.”

“So the house, with the arson, the flooding, ...like somebody didn’t want Patty and Nev to move in… and then… they’re trying to frighten us off for looking around?”

Kieren nodded, in more than half a mind to heed to their mystery attacker’s will and piss off out of the county.

“It’s all looking like Georgeson, isn’t it.” Kieren agreed again, and this time Simon kept the keys. “Let’s go to their house.” Kieren just sighed. At least he didn’t have to drive.

-

The door was opened by Fiona, who took one look at them and went back to what she was doing before, which was, apparently, staring at a blank wall with a glass of wine in one hand.

“What’s the matter with her?” Kieren whispered as they entered, cautious they weren’t going to get shot.

“Half a barrel of white, it looks like.” Simon nodded at the two empty bottles on the floor next to the armchair Fiona was residing in.

“Are you going to be amusing?” she asked, when neither moved to speak.

“I- I don’t think so, no,” Kieren said, taking a step closer.

“Hm. Why is nobody amusing anymore?”

“Maybe you don’t find people as amusing anymore.”

Fiona gave Simon an appraising look and held out her glass. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

“...Mrs. Georgeson, do you remember the button we showed you?”

“No.”

“The piece of antler, with holes in it.”

“Oh the toggle, do get it right, duckie.”

“You said you didn’t remember it, but we have a photo with you wearing a coat with them on.”

“Hm, I forgot about that.”

“Or you were deliberately trying to conceal the truth,” Kieren said, to which she smiled, thinly.

“Or I was deliberately trying to conceal the truth.  I’m not known for my veracity.”

“May we sit down?” Simon asked, feeling the temperature in the room chill, and indicating the sofa opposite her.

“No, I don’t think so. You’re not amusing.”

“Right…” Simon’s lips puckered slightly as they stood before her like subjects before a Queen.

“I suppose you’ve heard the village gossip about me and the chicken-farmer.”

“Yes, we-”

“He gave me the coat,” she cut across, as if she hadn’t heard Kieren start.

“And?”

“Mucho supriso, ducky, I didn’t want to bring it up in front of my pig of a husband. He has swinish jealous rages.”

“Do you still have the coat?”

“I gave it away, to my char, Mrs. Deeping. They took her on as a housekeeper after I fired her, good old Nev and Pat. Anything else, gentlemen?” They both shook their heads, feeling remarkably like schoolchildren being sent away by the headmistress. “You can let yourselves out.”

-

Simon handed the housekeeper the tablet with the photo of Fiona in the coat, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Oh yes, I remember her givin’ it to me, but it was a long time ago…” the old lady battled a smile on her face, the two men knowing she loved to draw out a story, to add dramatic emphasis to her pauses. “.. wait a minute though,” Simon grinned as the lady did the same. “I sold it, to Mrs. Matthews.”

“Matthews? The Foreman’s wife? He works for Harry Georgeson, doesn’t he?”

“Good pound she gimme for it, too, nearly half a grand, and with one of the buttons missing.”

“You’re a star, Mrs. Deeping.”

-

“So Georgeson steals his own horse, kills it, gets his money from Belfridge, plus his wife back, with investment, humiliating him and making him retire into chicken-farming.” Simon chucked Kieren the jeep keys. “Here, you drive.”

“Ugh. But what does Matthews have to do with it? His dirty work?”

“Maybe…”

“That’s too big a maybe to be going to the man’s house to accuse him of murder.” Kieren turned the key and the car didn’t make a sound. “Ugh. GOD, I really don’t see why we can’t have a proper car.”

“We need this one for work.” Simon beamed as the engine creaked into life.

“Then a newer model, something that isn’t pre-historic.”

“No, after this model they put in manly things, like comfortable seats and power steering. Rubbish like that. My baby has everything we need.”

Kieren had a right mind to crash the car into the nearest tree.

-

“Leave the talking to me,” Kieren muttered as they pulled up outside the Matthews’ house and approached the driveway.

“Fine.” Simon was all too happy to follow behind the ex-police Kieren, after all. He inspected the Matthews’ car as Kieren rung the doorbell, then beckoned Kieren- “Look-”  

“What is it?”

“Look at this,” Simon pulled a flower from the dirt guard. “It’s part of the orchid I found in their garden… That means this car must have been where the skeletons were found. It must have been caught in the bumper the night they shot Nev!”

With still nobody coming to answer the door, Simon marched through the side of the house, into the garden where a woman was tanning in the sun.

“Mrs. Matthews?”

“Fuck- Who the fuck are you, what are you doing in my fucking garden-” the woman leapt out of her hair, hands fisted before her face. “Get out my garden before I call the police!”

“Did you buy a coat from Mrs. Deeping?”

“Who the fuck? I don’t know who that is-”

“It’s Nev and Patty’s housekeeper-”

“Why the fuck would I buy a coat from a cleaner?”

“It’s this coat, Mrs. Matthews,” Simon held out the photo. “Are you sure you can’t remember it?

“For the last time. Get out of my garden.”

“We believe the person who killed Joanna was wearing this coat when she was murdered.”

“GET OUT. You can’t prove I ever had this coat! It’s gone! I never saw nothing!”

“What’s this all about then,” Simon and Kieren instantly backed away from the woman when they heard the voice of the towering, bald man. “I heard shouting, are you alright?”

“They’re accusing us of murder, Tommy!”

Kieren grabbed the tablet and showed it to the man, “It’s about this coat, have you ever seen it before?” he asked, trying to calm the man down, watching as Simon inched towards the exit.

“No, I don’t believe I have-”

Simon kneed the guy in the crotch and ran, dragging Kieren with him to the backing vocals of Mr. Matthews’ groans of pain and Mrs. Matthews’ shrieking.

“KEYS,” Simon shouted, catching the clump of metal as Kieren threw them at him.

It was a blessed day and the jeep started without a hitch, though the rev of another engine quick behind was unsettling. “Jesus Simon, what the fuck-”

“I’ve always wanted to do that. ...He had a weapon or something tucked in his jeans.”

“Where are we going?”

“Police station!”

“Christ, he’s on our tail, he’s right behind us-”

Not for long, as Simon swerved into a field, the land rover ploughing over the mud and grass, where, Kieren shouted, excited, Matthews was stuck, wheels gripping at nothing as he sank into a muddy pond. Drawn by the sound of speeding cars and squealing tires, a police car pulled off the road and nicked Matthews for speeding, even before the pair could tell them about the murder plot.

-

“Jem says Matthews is talking non-stop, giving all he’s got on Georgeson to buy himself less time.” Kieren pulled the covers over himself, sad that tonight would be their last night in the luxury of Patty’s house, having completed the garden project just as Nev had planned. “Georgeson paid Joanna a hundred quid to help steal away Arabica, but her guilty conscience started to bubble up, and he got Matthews to kill her.”

“Jesus, can you imagine. She was so young.”

“...I was about her age when I met Rick.”

“You’re hardly proving my point.” Simon heard the body in the bed next to his go still and he sighed. “Sorry.”

“You sound it.”

“Kieren…”

“I’m tired, Si. Can we talk about this later?”

“You can always talk to me, Kieren. About anything.”


	3. The Language of Flowers

# Episode 3- The Language of Flowers

“Can we have water lilies? I love water lilies.”

Simon battled to control a smile as he dug another shovel of gross out of the stagnant pond at the base of the faux-waterfall they were working on. As he dropped the mulch in the bucket he glanced at Kieren, sitting on his haunches and looking more relaxed than he had in days. Since that non-conversation about Rick. “Not if we get the cascade working, they only grow in still water.”

“Oh. I love water lilies.”

“...Yes, you said.” Simon was losing the battle and his grin widened, even as he returned his focus back to the green-black water. “Are you going to help with this or are you going to spend the rest of the day thinking about your favourite flowers?”

Simon looked up in time to see Kieren’s signature rolled eyes before he stood and took the bucket to empty it into their wheelbarrow. “The garden centre guy is pulling up,” Kieren told him as he returned, returning the bucket to its resting place.

Simon looked to the sky, seeing it had passed midday. “Only 2 hours late.” Kieren snorted in agreement, but found they couldn’t stay too mad at the guy, whose disposition seemed to be eternally sunny.

“Some bark for you guys!” the man said, dropping a couple of bags of the stuff next to Simon’s jeep. “Want me to take them anywhere?”

“Just there’s great, thanks.” Simon stood from his pond and watched as the man brought out a couple more sacks of the stuff. “I’d give you a hand but…” he held up his rotten-algae covered hands and mimed wiping them off on his trousers.

The man laughed as he dropped the final sack on the pile and came towards them. “Mike,” he introduced, jokingly holding his hand out to be shook. “You must be the Monroes?”

“Er, he’s the Monroe, I’m Kieren. Walker.” Kieren removed his less-dirty gloves and offered his own hand, which was shaken with much vigour.

“Oh! Well a pleasure, Kieren.”

“Simon,” Simon added, “Monroe. Thanks for the delivery, the jeep’s a beauty but she’s incapable of carrying too heavy a load.”

“Another reason why we should replace her-”

“We’re not getting rid of our child, Kieren.”

“Christ, Simon, it’s a car-” Kieren stopped himself from continuing as he realised where he was, deciding not to rise to the bait. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to listen to another of our hours long debates about that piece of scrap metal.”

“That’s okay, me and the missus were exactly the same when we got back from our honeymoon…” Mike gave them a sympathetic look before pulling out his mobile. “Is that the time? I have to head back, another delivery at 2…”

“Right, yeah, thanks for that again,” Simon said, hurried, smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“Nice meeting you guys- I’ll see you round the village later?”

“Yeah, you too,” Kieren greeted, waving a small wave.

“Oh- before you go?” Simon asked, “Do you happen to know a good B&B around here?”

“I can do better than that,” Mike said, pocketing his phone, “I have a summer cottage, let it out for weekend breaks and the like. Booking for this fortnight’s just cancelled and I can’t afford to let it sit for a week.”

“That’d be perfect, thank you. Er, leave the address at the reception?” Simon asked, indicating the hotel the waterfall was owned by.

Mike gave them a thumbs up through his car window and waved as he pulled away.

“How much is the bet that the cottage only has one bed?”

“Sounded very honeymoon-suite.” Simon returned to squelching. “It’s not too late to tell him we got a divorce.”

“And break his heart? The man thinks we’re newly-weds. He was trying so hard to be PC.”

“Or he could just have been a genuinely nice person,” Simon suggested. “If it makes you uncomfortable to share a bed I can find a B&B and you can have the cottage.”

“It’s fine.”

Simon made a vaguely accepting, nonchalant noise. “I need to use the toilet. Switch?”

Kieren’s face scrunched as he contemplated the murky pool but reluctantly stood. They needed to clear the gunk before the end of the day or they’d not progress at the speed their employer would want, and she was cold-hearted woman with zero tolerance for delays.

“I’ll try to be quick, your highness.”

“Piss off.”

-

Quick turned out to be not quick at all, Simon getting caught by not only their direct employer, the owner of the hotel, but first the woman’s son, who good-naturedly asked if they needed any assistance, then the woman’s daughter, Laura, who offered him a cup of tea.

Thinking she meant in order for him to take back, Simon cheerfully accepted, until he realised he was being made to sit in the hotel’s fancy tea-room (gaining more than a couple of looks for his attire and, most likely, the smell he was trudging in with him.)

The daughter, more like her brother than mother, was a polite young lady of about thirty, who wore summer dresses like she was modelling them, and whose smile was always genuine.

Over an hour later, Simon returned to find Kieren still going at it, but with a face like he’d sucked a whole lemon. “You love mucking around in that mud don’t you.”

Kieren didn’t look up, dumping another load of rotted plant in the bucket. “I hate you.”

“I had a very interesting talk about a book with Laura.”

“I hate you even more.”

“They found their father’s manuscripts after he died and decided to publish them. ‘The Language of Flowers.’”

“Definitely still hate you.”

Simon laughed, tucking the copy he’d been given free under his arm. “Come on, we need to get cleaned and dressed for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Laura invited us around to her weekly dinner party. Says the invite only stands if we don’t smell like pond weed.”

“What about the pond?”

“Apparently head madam will be there herself, said we can take the evening off. Live to squidge another day.”

“So I worked for nothing.” Kieren sighed as he hauled himself out and wiped most of the worst shit off of himself. “Great.”

-

The two arrived at the dinner party looking their (current) best, smelling like soap and with fingernails that hadn’t seen the light for weeks. Arriving first, they were soon put to work setting the table and helping Laura cut vegetables for her elaborate meal. There was a knock at the door and Kieren, being nearest, went for it. After the third guest arrived and he was still nearest, he was relegated to greeting duty.

“Now who’s this young fellow then?” One guest asked, smirking as the door was opened for him. “Not seen you around these parts.”

“I’m trying to get a job as a butler,” Kieren joked, recycling the same joke he’d used on the last four people to have made the same comment.

“Well then, Mr. Butler, I’m Lee… a pleasure.” Kieren tried to keep a polite smile on his face as he moved out of the man’s way and let him into the house, ignoring the grin focused upon him. Spotting Simon across the room, he gravitated towards him, standing just inside Simon’s personal space and sending Lee what he hoped to be a shrivelling look.

“That should be all of them, Kieren,” Laura said, patting his arm. “Thank you so much, you really were a terrific help.”

“No problem.” Kieren smiled a one-sided smile, still not getting out of Simon’s space, just in case Lee decided to make smalltalk.

“Did you see mother come in?” Laura’s brother, Ryan, asked. “Only she’s usually the first to get at the Champagne, and it’s still corked.”

Kieren shook his head, feeling amazingly out of place in this high-society do, even as he was handed a flute of the sparkling liquid by a woman he briefly remembered as the receptionist.

“Hm, wherever could she be at, and at this time of night too…” Ryan sighed, looking at his watch. “I suppose we shan’t be able to start until she arrives either…”

“I’ll go and check the bedroom,” Laura relented, starting up the stairs but coming back down a couple of minutes later looking perplexed. “The study?” she asked, and Ryan went to check.

Seconds after he left the room, the guests silenced at the sound of a glass shattering to the floor. Curious, Simon and Kieren went to investigate, finding Ryan standing in the doorway to the study, eyes on something they couldn’t see, face drained of blood.

“M-Mother, she- she’s been murdered-”

-

Kieren walked into the cottage’s kitchen to find it already occupied. They’d discovered that the bed was shared, but Simon had said he’d come to bed after he’d finished working on something. Now at three AM, Kieren doubted that. He crossed his arms.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Simon excused, barely looking up from the book he was reading at the dining table.

Kieren let it go with a small smile. “Neither could I. Kept imagining her sitting strangled while we were sipping champagne a couple metres away.” He watched a white spot on the wall, tinted orange by the weak desk-light on the table. “Tea?”

“No, thanks.”

Deciding it was probably a wise decision not to imbibe caffeine quite yet, Kieren joined Simon at the table. “You’re reading that book her husband wrote?

“Mm. Actually quite interesting.”

“...The language of flowers,” Kieren said, skeptically.

“Says it’s a cross between Medieval love poetry and Christian symbolism.”

Kieren rested his arms on the table, chin coming to lie on his forearms. “Hmmm?”

“...Mixed with flower codes to send secret messages in the Sultan’s harems, then the Victorians got a hold of it to send messages Mother would not approve of.” Simon bounced his eyebrows, cheeky grin appearing from behind the book.

“All to do with sex then,” Kieren sighed.

“Romantic love!” Simon objected, putting the book down on the table. “Where’s your romance, Kieren. Flowers, symbolism, secrets…”

“Sex.”

Simon opened his mouth to object, but Kieren’s yawn interrupted him. “Go to bed, Kier.”

“Mm. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t. Night.”

“G’night,” Kieren said as he stumbled back to the bedroom.

-

“Can’t you get any more in the bucket?” Simon asked, incredulous, as a half-filled one was passed to him.

“Any more and I won’t be able to lift it,” Kieren complained, knee-deep in the still-filthy water.

“And this is why I tell you to eat your greens.” Simon dumped the bucket’s content in the wheelbarrow and returned, handing back the plastic container to be filled again.

“Did you see that Lee guy last night?” Kieren asked, frowning at the stuff he was pulling up.

Simon snorted, remembering well and half-thanking the guy for making Kieren stay close to him in the process. “Greasy guy trying to pick you up?”

“I think he killed the woman. Wonder if he’s got a record.”

Simon laughed as he went to dump the bucket again. “Anyone you don’t like you think he’s got a record.”

“I’ll get Jem to look him up.”

“Talking of police,” Simon squinted as an officer approached.

“Mr. Walker?” the lady asked, and Kieren looked up, nodding. “The DI wants to ask you some routine questions.”

Simon and Kieren shared a surprised look, but they followed after the officer, back to the hotel and to where they’d parked the jeep.

-

“So, Mr. Walker… Can you tell me what you were doing yesterday?” The two of them had been driven back to the cottage they were staying at, Simon kept in the car as Kieren was introduced to an inspector who was, thankfully, not Maxine.

“Uh, about 9 we arrived at the hotel, went straight to the waterfall with the er, deceased. Then Simon and I went to the garden centre, ordered some bark, came back and started work. Noon, Mike delivered our bark, then we worked until about three, when we went home, showered, and went to Laura’s house, arriving about five.”

The Inspector hummed, writing in his pad as he surveyed the bedroom they were standing in, watching the officer check all of their drawers of clothes. “And you were together the whole time?”

Kieren bit his tongue before he could remark on the inspector’s tone. “Apart from the shower, yeah.”

“...This partnership, new business, I’m told?”

“Yeah.”

“And your profession before becoming a… uh… flower boy?”

“Horticulturalist,” Kieren grated. “Househusband. Before that, police.”

“Oh? Why’d you give it up?”

Kieren looked up, and into the man’s eye. “I was stupid enough to fall in love with a DI.” He smiled. “Can I go?”

-

“They think we’re jewellery thieves,” Simon told him as Kieren was released, “The Daffodil Desperados.”

“Will I regret asking what you’re talking about?”

“Apparently when she was killed, the murderer took all her jewels too. And I heard the lovely police lady tell Mike we were suspects.”

“Great. Now our reputations can be camper than usual.” Kieren jammed his hands into his hoodie pockets, kicking a rock and feeling like a teenager. “That DI enjoyed going through my underwear, I could tell.”

“Part of the perks of being a policeman?” Simon asked, elbowing Kieren with a grin.

“Shut up.”

“But I was just getting round to a rather enjoyable rant,” Simon said, attempting to mimic Kieren’s accent.

“You’re the worst and I hate you. The DI wants to see you now.”

-

“Kieren!” Kieren almost shuddered when he recognised the voice calling out to him. He tried to speed up, but carrying lunch and a couple of fold-out chairs, he was barely nimble.

“Lee… Hi.” Kieren bit the inside of his mouth as Lee’s face lit up.

“I’m flattered you remember me!”

“Memorable night,” Kieren said, voice clipped so he didn’t let out anything too encouraging.

“Oh yes, nasty stuff.” Lee shook his head, and Kieren was annoyed to see that Lee was attractive, in the conventional preened, tanned, 30-odd white man kind of way a man could be attractive. And yet, Kieren just felt oddly annoyed with him. “Apparently it was Laura, they arrested her this morning.”

“What?” Kieren was taken aback, but remembered he could ask anybody about it and so stored the information away to inquire about from someone who wasn’t this creep.

“You having a picnic?” Lee asked, pointing at the tesco bag.

“Uhuh.”

“Well, I hope that’s gin you’ve got in that flask of yours. Looks like you need revving up a bit.” Lee winked, sidling closer, and Kieren recoiled, taking quick steps back.

“If I ever needed revving up, Lee, you’d be the last person I’d ask.” Kieren tilted his head back a bit, feeling regal, and walked away with a stiff spine, hoping Lee wouldn’t attack him, either verbally or physically.

-

“Dicentra spectabilis, also known as secret love,” were Simon’s first words as Kieren joined him. He pointed at a plant just beyond where they’d been working, whose flowers looked like dangling love hearts.

“Still on about that shit?”

Simon simply pointed at another flower, planted suspiciously symmetrically to the first group. “Arnica montana-”

“English?”

“Wolfsbane, also known as vengeance,”

“...Secret love and Vengeance?”

“I’m not saying it’s true, I’m just saying.” Simon put the book down between them and took out his sandwich.  He raised his finger to point at a white flower just beyond. “Campanula. Funeral bells to signify death.”

“You’re trying to tell me the author of the book planted the flowers to spell a secret message?”

“Those last ones over there, the small purple ones? They’re the symbol for birth.” Simon took a bite of his sandwich and chewed. “Love, death, birth, vengeance… sounds like a murder mystery to me.”

“...Or they were just aesthetically pleasing.”

Simon put his sandwich back into its box and hung his head, trying to wipe a fond smile off of his face without it showing. “You’re always so logical.”

“Shall we get started?” Kieren asked as he polished off the rest of his own lunch and threw the box into the bag-now-bin.

“I was thinking about checking the other cascade designed by the woman who made this one, if you wanted to come?”

“Er- no, it’s okay, I’ll just carry on here.”

Simon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Oh-” he stopped in his exit and turned. “I got a message saying Jem’s coming tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” Simon shrugged again.

“Oh- apparently Laura was arrested this morning.”

“Laura?” Simon frowned. “Why her? She’s the least suspicious of the family.”

It was Kieren’s turn to shrug and Simon sighed. “If you get bored here can you go order more plants from Mike? I’ll walk so you can take the jeep.”

-

Kieren decided he liked Mike. The man wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, which only served to make his happiness catchy- one never felt like Mike was secretly planning behind one’s back. He also didn’t make Kieren lift heavy things, unlike Simon, who had no qualms in making him do backbreaking work for hours on end, instead offering to pick up bags of gravel and large, potted shrubs.

Kieren was reading off a list of plants he’d been requested to buy by Simon when there was the sound of tires shredding down the asphalt path, a convertible squealing to a stop besides where carpark met outside-plant market.

“Kieren, what a surprise.” Kieren suppressed a sigh as Lee strode towards them, the displeasure on the man’s face curdling his attractive features into one not exactly ugly but… unpleasant. Lee no longer looked the mysterious charmer. “Buddying up to every guy but me I see?” He asked, shooting a ‘smile’ at Mike.

“Alright Lee?” Mike asked, sounding slightly on edge. “You’ve met our Kieren then?”

“How’s your wife, Mike, she okay? Must be lonely in that house of yours, maybe I’ll go visit her later-”

The rest of his sentiment was cut short by a swift upper jap to the nose, sending the man sprawling on top of a display of potted herbs. Kieren’s eyes blew wide as Mike shook out his fist, the two of them looking down on a startled Lee, who was starting to bleed, heavily from his nose.

“Leave off, Lee,” Mike grunted before walking off.

“Was that what you call being revved up?” Kieren asked, gleefully, before running after Mike.

-

Simon knocked on the hotel office’s door, and was invited in by a voice he didn’t recognise.

“Oh Inspector- I was looking for Laura?” Simon smiled innocently, trying to look like he wasn’t just about to try to snoop in her stuff for clues.

“We just arrested her.”

“Oh? Well I’ll be…” Simon nodded to himself, formulating a plan. “She definitely had that look about her… the rough sort, I can always tell who they are.”

“Well, we police need to go by more than just looks, Mr. Monroe.” The inspector smiled as he approached.

“Call me Simon.” He smiled, trying to deepen his voice and sound alluringly Irish. To his own ears, he sounded ridiculous, but the Inspector gulped and sat down, which made Simon’s smile grow.

“How did you know it was her, if I may ask?”

“We er, looked through the CCTV of the hotel and tracked her movements.”

“That is just SO clever.” Simon nodded, leaning in a little. “I would never have thought of that.”

“Well…” The inspector gulped again. “Years of experience.”

Simon hummed, still nodding. “What did you find?”

The inspector snapped a little straighter, and Simon thought he’d ruined his plan, had been too direct, until the inspector licked his lips. “...well… it is rather extraordinary…. I guess I could show you if you promised not to tell anyone…”

Simon nodded, perhaps too eagerly, but the inspector turned the tv on the desk on and offered Simon the seat he’d just been sat in. The video showed Laura in her iconic sundress and large blue hat, stuffing her mother’s jewellery into her desk drawer, the desk that they were currently sat at.

“Why would she be so stupid?” Simon whispered, more to himself than as a real question, but the inspector answered anyway.

“After a while people forget about the cameras. They’ve lived here all their lives, they don’t even notice they’re there.”

“...Why did you look at it?”

“We look at everything,” the Inspector said, smug.

Simon went back to watching the looped clip of Laura at her desk. “Why would Laura kill her mother, if she stood to inherit the most?”

The inspector paused the video, moving a little closer, then stopped, suddenly suspicious. “Do you know anything that might help the investigation?”

“Nope.” Simon stood, smiling down at the inspector’s befuddled look, a mix of lustful hope and police caution. “...You couldn’t give me a lift back to my cottage, could you? Only my partner’s got the jeep.”

-

“You look tense,” Simon observed, putting down the butter and reaching for the jam.

Kieren took the butter now, spreading it with forceful strokes that broke the surface of the toast. “You know what’s happened, don’t you.”

“Er, you might have to narrow the query…”

“They’ve broken up. That’s why he’s sending Jem, can’t even face me and tell me himself.” Kieren set his jaw, still mechanically scraping butter. “Why else would Jem come all this way?”

“Rick?” Simon asked, frowning into his coffee. “...Will you take him back?”

“Not if he’s sending my sister to ask me back.” Kieren bit into his toast and chewed, thoughtfully. “God I bet that’s it, the bastard, I bet she’s already run off with some other guy and he’s crawling back for my attention.”

“Right.” Simon pushed his half-eaten breakfast away from himself and picked up his rucksack. “You’re meeting her at the pub, right? Can you walk?”

“Er, sure- didn’t you want me to help you with the bark this morning?”

“Take the morning. Don’t want to smell like shit when Jem breaks the good news.” Simon grabbed the car keys and walked out the door, slamming it just that bit too hard. He couldn’t find the effort to care.

-

“Hey Kier.” An automatic smile formed on Kieren’s face as a pint of lager was placed in front of him, another taking its spot opposite.

“Alright, baby sis.” Jem rolled her eyes, but by this point it was almost an in-joke between them. Jem had a good few inches on Kieren, and looked the part of an adult too, unlike Kieren’s still not having grown out of looking like an eighteen year old.

“You look a’ight.” Jem noted, sprawling in her seat in a way that Kieren hoped would never change.

“I always look alright.”

“Whatever. ...Nice place, this.”

“Yeah, it’s good, nice soil.”

“What the fuck.” Jem snorted, sipping her drink. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Are you taking your inspector’s exams yet?” Kieren asked, hating the taste of lager, but enjoying the familiarity it had, the way it reminded him of hanging out with Jem when they were kids.

“...Next year, maybe,” Jem said, evasive, and Kieren squinted.

“Don’t leave it too late, Jem, they’re cutthroats and if they think you can’t do it-”

“I’m doing it, okay, leave it, Kier.” Jem took a longer gulp of her drink. “You were right about that Lee guy, flagged a couple of records.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah… but like… I did worse when we were kids, he’s got a couple pickpocketing things in the 80s,”

“80s? Jesus how old is he?”

“Said he was 15 or summin in 1982 so…”

“Oh god he’s forty six.”

“Did you bang him or something?”

“No, but he tried it.” Kieren groaned, the man was nearly the same age as their dad. “Nothing more than petty theft?”

“Not that he was caught for.”

“Not exactly Jack the Ripper is he?” Kieren drank another sip of his larger and a faint smile reappeared. “So why’re you actually here?”

“...It’s about Rick.”

Kieren couldn’t help his smile broaden a bit as he clutched his glass in anticipation. “Oh?”

“Kier…” Jem put her own glass down, gaze falling on the worm-eaten wood of the picnic bench. “It’s about the house.”

“The-” Kieren’s eyes darted from table to Jem, searching her eyes once they locked. “The house?”

“There’s some deed you have to sign. He’s had an offer on the house but he can’t wait around forever, so he asked me to give it to you in person.” Jem’s explanation was rushed but clinical, sounding like she was informing a victim’s spouse of a death. “Cos you ain’t got a permanent address, like.”

“Oh.”

“You just have to sign where it’s marked with the cross.” Jem pulled out the deeds, a heavy pack of paper, and opened it to the page.

Kieren gulped, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Pen?”

They both pretended his voice didn’t crack.

-

Jem drove Kieren back to the hotel in silence, though she put on the mixtape he’d made for her when she went through her first break-up, which made Kieren’s heart swell with emotions that he managed to keep in. There seemed to be some commotion going at the hotel proper so the two said goodbye in the carpark, promising to meet up again soon.

Kieren headed straight towards the waterfall, hoping Simon had found something else to occupy himself with. Apparently these hopes weren’t as far-fetched as he’d thought, as he sat himself down on the steps that rose up the cliff just beside the dell. He gulped, then gulped again, trying to force his emotions back down, to act lofty and above it all. It was fine that Rick wanted to sell their house. Absolutely.

It was fine that Rick had moved on with his life, that he was selling their house in order to buy a property for himself and the teenage girl. Completely fine. Rick was an independent adult, and so was the girl. They could do whatever they wanted. They were able to do whatever they wanted. So why was it that Kieren couldn’t? Why did it feel like Kieren was the only one who’d been left behind, felt the victim the entire time?

He drew a deep breath and it sounded shuddery, was accompanied by the wrack of the body that only preceded sobs, and then he cried. He pressed his palms to his eyes and he sobbed, head resting against his knees, surrounded by potted plants waiting to be freed, the only noise the trickle of the broken waterfall and the distant warble of sirens.

Kieren’s tears got bigger and bigger, his muffled sobs loud in the echoed cove, until the sobs weren’t loud, they were being drowned out- Kieren rubbed his eyes and turned to see that the dell had fixed itself- apparently of its own accord. Drying his face with his sleeve, Kieren stood and wondered at the way the water cascaded down the rocks forming miniature rainbows over the clusters of flowers.

“It works!” Came an elated cry and Kieren looked up to see Simon standing at the top of the cliff, fists raised in the air.

“Congratulations,” Kieren croaked, hastily clearing his throat to try again, this time his voice carrying adequate excitement.

“They arrested Lee!” Simon shouted, hands cupped over his mouth to project his voice.

“What?”

Simon held out a finger, asking Kieren to stay there while he carefully descended on the now-damp staircase. While out of sight, Kieren mopped up his cheeks- he could blame any residue on the waterfall’s splashes.

“Apparently Lee was Laura and Ryan’s half-brother. He was flauntingly promiscuous to disguise the fact that he had a wife, who dressed up as Laura and committed the murders.”

Kieren waved a hand, disbelieving. “Convoluted and too complex.”

“The owner’s husband, the one who wrote the book, he knocked up the gardener at the time, hence secret love and birth, then the gardener killed herself here: death, vengeance. The husband planted the flowers around the waterfall as a grave, and as a confession of his guilt.”

“And so Lee took revenge for his mother by killing the owner dressed up as Laura?”

“Apparently Lee was told this all by the hotel owner, who offered to pay him for his silence: the scandal could have had the hotel closed down.”

“Ugh.” Kieren shook his head at the idiocy of it all. “Sounds like you had a busy morning.”

“Told the inspector about the flowers and we came to the conclusion together,” Simon grinned, pleased with himself.

“I hope I don’t see secret messages in every garden we do.” Kieren reached to touch one of the tiny pink-petalled flowers by the bottom of the dell. “I like flowers being flowers.”

“I think we’d go mad trying to interpret every romantic gardener’s meanings.” Simon patted Kieren on the back. “Come on, I’ll buy you a soda pop or whatever you kids are drinking these days.”

“Alright grandpa, slow down in case you hurt yourself.”

“I missed Jem, what did she say? Bring a message from our dear friend?”

“...Of course.”

“I hope you told her where he can shove his return.”

“Exactly what I said. He won’t be troubling me anymore.”

“Well then!” Simon looked pleased as anything, his smile causing his eyes to crease at the corners.  “You deserve more than a coke.”


	4. Sweet Angelica

# Episode 4- Sweet Angelica

“What a sorry looking lawn,” Simon said as they pulled up to Bowden Grange language school. “The stuff looks mostly deteriorated.”

“Weird square patches,” Kieren agreed. There were only a few areas of green surrounding the holes of brown, dead grass on the lawn. As they approached the school proper, an elderly man with a rake waved at them, indicating they should follow him, leading them to the carpark.

“You the gardeners?”

“Yeah, I’m Simon, this is Kieren.” Simon locked the jeep, coming round the side to shake the man’s hand.

“Bill. I’m the gardener here… I suppose you’ve seen the grass… been watering and raking and trimming it for years, haven’t ever had this problem before.”

“It might be a blight, someone bringing something they shouldn’t on the land?”

“Well, whatever it is, big boss isn’t happy to be forking out for you two when he’s already paying me.” Bill looked sad, dejected, and they could see why as a suited man descended down the path, raving at Bill already.

“I told you to find me the INSTANT they arrived, goddamnit, Bill, go back to the back, you’ve got work to be doing.” Bill nodded, wordlessly, and Simon and Kieren waved at him, sympathetic but not wanting to offend their host.

The moment Bill was gone, the man’s countenance change, smiling politely. “Sorry about that, the old man’s never where he should be, don’t know why we didn’t fire him years ago. Right. Lawn. I’ve got important guests coming this weekend and I need it fixed by then.”

Kieren turned to Simon, skeptical. “We might be able to find the solution by then but to fix it, Mr. Bagni…”

“I’m paying you, aren’t I?” The man had changed again, obviously short-tempered. “Fix it by this weekend. I have things to be doing.” With that, and without so much as a goodbye, he’d turned and disappeared.

“Charming,” Kieren snorted. “Okay, so what’s first.”

“We’re too far away from the uni to use their equipment… can you ask someone if they know where the nearest shopping centre is and buy some test tubes and tongs?”

“I can try my best.” Kieren held out his hand, but Simon looked sheepish.

“I need the jeep to get supplies. I think I saw a bus-stop?”

“Great.” Kieren sighed, wanting to object, but Simon patted him on the shoulder, at least feigning not to laugh, so he trudged off into the school to find a person to help him.

-

Around lunchtime, Simon, in the midst of making the lawn out of bounds, was invited to lunch by Mr. Bagni’s wife. Not having packed anything, Simon thanked her, hoping Kieren wouldn’t bring him anything back.

“I thought there were two of you,” she asked, sounding minutely less fearsome than her husband.

“Yeah, the other’s on a supply run,” Simon smiled, trying his best to enjoy the sub-par cooking. Almost as he was thinking that he hoped Kieren did return with food afterall, Kieren entered the room, smiling and sitting down next to them.

“Managed to find your way?” Simon asked.

“One of the teachers was taking some of the students on a shopping trip so I hitched a ride.”

“Shopping trip?” Simon, confused, turned to the missus.

“We help them with their English. They’re all already able to speak it, but we find taking the students out into the environment, forcing them to communicate with the locals, really adds detail to their foundations.”

“So you… Polish them up.” Simon tried not to smile at his own joke, ignoring the murderous look on Kieren’s face. When it looked like the wife was about ready to chuck them out, Simon schooled his expression. “Sorry.”

“I know it looks like my husband is over-reacting, but the guests we have over this weekend are crucial investors. Whether they’re impressed with our school will make or break us, and a lawn that looks scabby and under-maintained just… doesn’t give the best first-impression.”

Simon found his humour fading, his smile more genuine. “We think we’re looking at something fungal- possibly something insect-related. We’ll run some tests today, and maybe come up with a solution tomorrow.”

The wife looked relieved, thanking them both before finishing her food and leaving the dining-hall.

“Still doesn’t excuse the way he treated Bill,” Kieren said, stabbing at his own food.

“Talking of, he said we can set ourselves up in the room he uses for his gardening supplies. He’s clearing us off a desk. Oh- that and he has a spare room in his house- queen-sized bed, I’m promised.”

Kieren sighed, nodding. He was getting used to sharing with Simon, whether their hosts assumed something or just didn’t have the space.

“Did you get the stuff?”

Kieren nodded, still chewing as he brought out a plastic bag. “Test tubes are really hard to find in a shopping centre, it turns out.”

“And the tongs?” Kieren shook his head, taking something else out instead. “...hairpins.”

“Extra-long.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Well at least our long, luscious locks won’t singe?”

“I thought we could bend them and wrap them around the tubes.”

“Right…” Sceptical, Simon read the back of the pack before handing them to Kieren.

“Hey, Kieren, wasn’t it?” Kieren nodded at the teacher approaching, hiding the hairpins. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just wondering if you’d seen Angelica.”

“Er no, sorry?” The teacher was slightly older than them but not by much: he was slightly built, a light grey smattering in his hair. Simon smiled at him in greeting, though the guy reminded him a little too much of John.

John-lookalike sighed, looking over his shoulder as if Angelica might walk in through the power of talking about her. “Right okay. Just we can’t find Phil either…”

“I’ll let you know if I see either,” Kieren consoled, giving the teacher an encouraging smile.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Looking distracted, the teacher left, the two remaining at the table staring after him.

“Angelica? Phil?” Simon asked, finishing his plate.

“Angelica was one of the students who was with us on the trip. Daughter of a family who used to be Polish royalty I think. Tall, blonde, pretty, quiet but with a tongue on her when it came to Phil… he’s the driver, maybe general handyman? Right perv, trying to cop a feel every time her back was turned.”

“Not ideal that they’re both missing, huh.”

Kieren shook his head, finishing his own lunch. “But that guy- Greg- he’s a good teacher, gentleman, really gave Phil a lecture on his behaviour.” Kieren downed a gulp of water before collecting his things to take to the kitchen. “Right. Ready to garden?”

-

“You okay there Bill?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, thanks, lads.”

“You look deep in thought- anything we can help with?” Simon placed a mug of tea in front of Bill, earning him a pleased smile.

“Aw nothing complicated. ‘Was thinking about the last owner is all…”

“I just assumed it’s always been run by the family?” Kieren asked, coming to sit down opposite Bill at the table.

“Oh no, no.” Bill shook his head. “The place was an estate for the previous owner’s family, my family’s been gardening it for generations, till Mrs. Bagni bought it and converted it, marrying Sir. Not that I’m complaining, plenty of good kids, and it’s good the place isn’t going to waste, but…”

“But it’s different to when you grew up here.”

Bill gave them a knowing smile, cheered by their listening to him. “Would you like to see what it was like before?” At their nods, his smile grew, pottering off out of the room only to return a few minutes later with a few framed photos. “This one’s inside, very little’s changed downstairs, only the dining hall now fits kids on plastic chairs instead of old men in mahogany…” The three smiled at the mental image of old aristocrats sat around in red chairs.

“Is that the garden?”

“Ah yes, before this lot arrived, the front lawn wasn’t quite so large, because they had these big conservatories at the front. One of the lords had just come back from this overseas adventure, you see, and had brought back a new fruit not seen by most people at the time-” Bill paused for effect, as if it had been him to have brought the fruit, and were unveiling it to them, a rapt crowd. “Pineapples. Made quite the mint, I’m told, just by people wanting to look at them.”

“And the last photo?”

“Oh this one is nice, I don’t know how they took it, but it’s almost an aerial view of the gardens… there, you can see the conservatories from on top, and then the fields in the background… spectacular, hm? We used to have sheep in them fields, I used to tend to them. Missus sold them when she arrived, of course, you can’t have sheep at school!”

Bill’s grin warmed the two, finding it nice to see him so relaxed after being so down.

“Right, come on, work.” Simon grabbed his coffee, taking it to the other side of the room. “Thank you, Bill, this was incredible- you’ll have to tell us more about the place while we do this sciency stuff.”

“Oh you don’t want me hanging about, all I know is how to use the lawnmower.”

“Nonsense, Bill, we need you, you know this place more than anybody.”

Bill looked gratified but hesitant, coming towards them slowly. “What is it exactly that you’re doing here?”

“Well, while Kieren was out, I took some soil samples. What we’re going to do is to put them in our test tubes and see if we find something like… fungus, that’s eating all of the grass’ nutrients, or maybe insects that are killing the roots.”

“Oh! Rather simpler than I imagined with all this… gobbledygook I hear you boys talking.”

Simon grinned, pulling out a box of chemicals. “Well, that’s the first step anyway.”

Bill’s smile remained, knowing he was being teased, but with no malicious intent. “Okay you rascals, you get to your science.”

“Hey Bill?” Kieren called, just before Bill left, “Simon would never say it, but don’t you think it’s cool how lawn husbandry has become a science? You say you only watered and mowed the grass, but you’ve been keeping this stuff at bay for years, and now you can say you’ve had scientists be impressed by your work.”

Bill paused, a serene expression on his features, before it burst into a smile of sunshine. “You kids trying to cheer up an old man, get on with it.”

-

“Where’s your husband?” Kieren asked over dinner, watching Mrs. Bagni eat in a studied concentration.

“Oh I don’t know, he’s probably about somewhere, on the phone to those guests of his perhaps.”

“We just wanted to ask about where he wanted us to-”

“You can use wherever and whatever you want,” the lady snapped, before returning to her meal, ignoring the hurt look shared between Kieren and Simon.

“Talk of the devil,” Kieren whispered as the principle entered, accompanied by Greg.

“Angelica still hasn’t returned,” the principal whispered to the head table, sneaking glances at the students on the other tables, making sure none were listening in. “We need to split up and find her.”

“Should we not call the police?” Simon asked, earning himself a dirty look.

“And let it become a scandal? Of course not. You two have your own car, check the lanes, see if she snuck out to the pub. Greg and I will search the boy’s dorms, you take the girls’, darling.”

“What about the other staff?” Kieren asked, knowing how large the countryside could be after dark.

“No-one else lives in,” the principal said. “And you know what the elites are like, probably monitoring our phone calls. No, we must do this ourselves.”

-

Three hours later, Simon and Kieren were tired and cold. The jeep swerved another corner, the headlights revealing very little of what lay in the darkness. “Have we been down that lane?” Simon asked, slowing, ready to turn.

“We’ve been down every lane,” Kieren complained, not caring that his voice had turned to whine about an hour ago. “She’s probably already back at the school, and they’ve forgotten that we exist.”

“We’ll try for another half hour, then we can check back at the school, okay, Kieren?”

Kieren sighed, breath fogging in the cold of the car, but nodded, resting his head against the glass. Spotting something, he sat up, squinting as he sat forwards. “Stop, stop, what’s that- it looks like something’s been run over-”

As they slowed, they could see something to the side of the road, something large- “Is that a person? Fuck-” The two leapt out of the jeep, running the rest of the way to find Kieren’s thoughts confirmed. Turning the body over carefully, they could see that the throat had been cut, hardly a hit-and-run.

“It’s not Angelica, at least,” Simon said, assuming by Kieren’s description earlier that this short, bearded man was not her.

“It’s Phil. We need to call the police.”

-

The whole school and staff were called to breakfast the next morning for an assembly, not having told the  students what had occurred the previous night. As they were sat at the staff table, Kieren elbowed Simon, inclining his head towards a girl who’d just walked in, looking down and out. “Angelica?” Simon mouthed, getting a nod.

“Right, attention everyone.” The principal cleared his throat and the students settled, though still looking around, wonderingly, at the line of police surrounding them and the doors. “Last night, a terrible tragedy occurred. Phillip, our handyman, passed away. Now, though it is a sad event, we believe it is best to carry on as usual.”

“Or they’d have to refund the fees,” Kieren whispered into Simon’s ear, who snorted his agreement.

“This is Maxine Martin, she’s a policewoman, and in charge of finding out what happened to Phillip. Er-” The principle stood aside as Maxine pushed past, glancing over them all.

“If you have anything to say, or to confess, speak to me or to one of my officers. We’re investigating this murder with the utmost priority-” at the word murder, the students became unsettled, many turning to their friends.

“Alright, settle down,” the principal quietened hastily, shooting daggers at Martin. “”We’re looking into the- er- possibility of murder. So none of you must worry, you’re all definitely safe here.” Martin huffed but stood aside while the principle finished the rest of his speech, concluding in a bible passage which, at least, seemed to calm her down.

-

“Gloves you nana-” Too late, Simon threw gloves at Kieren, who’d already pricked his finger on the rusted metal of the pegs they were using. “Great. Now you’re gonna die of septicemia and you never learnt how to change the wheel on the jeep.”

Kieren whacked him, licking the blood off his finger. It was only a small cut.

“So,” Simon said clearing his throat and avoiding looking at Kieren. He hammered another pole into the lawn, Kieren wrapping string around it in order to keep the teenagers off their control area, “Angelica killed Phil?”

“She had motive, and I wouldn’t blame her, a creep like that. He could’ve lured her into the forest, tried something funny…”

“And she slit his neck with a handy knife she just happened to be carrying,” Simon completed.

“I don’t think she could’ve done it, not in self-defence, and definitely not in a struggle.”

“It looked pretty bloody, could’ve been an accident.”

“No, no, when I saw it yesterday, the cut was at an angle, it’d have to have been down from behind. Here,” Kieren dropped his string, grabbed Simon and yanked his head back, violently, until his head was resting on Kieren’s shoulder. He mimed a cutting motion with his thumb, keeping hold of Simon. “But we’re different heights to them so-” he forced Simon to crouch, looping his arm under Simon’s underarm in order to pull his shoulder against Kieren’s body, “the cut would have been different.”

“Angelica is tall for a girl…”

“But not taller than Phil, I would’ve noticed yesterday.”

“So our killer has to be a tall dude? Or even taller than average woman… Er, Kieren? Can you put me down?”

“Oh right-” Kieren released Simon, pushing him away as Simon wiped at his throat. Kieren had only used his fingernail to scratch a line, but it was still a weird sensation.

Someone cleared their throat from behind them and both wheeled to see Maxine, watching them like they’d just finished having sex on the lawn.

“Can I ask you what you’re doing here?” She said, looking not even the faintest bit amused.

“Fixing the er, lawn,” Simon said, trying not to sound indignant, as if he didn’t remember who she was.

“Certainly looks like it.”

“Did you want something?” Kieren wasn’t trying quite so hard to sound polite, all but spitting at her.

“Just establishing whereabouts. You were the first to find the victim… why were you out and abouts in the woods so late?”

Kieren tried hard to restrain himself from saying ‘dogging’, even as Simon gave the real answer. “We were told one of the students had gone missing, so we were helping to find her. We thought Phil’s body might have been hers.”

“Hm.” Maxine scribbled something in her notepad. “I wasn’t informed of this. What’s the student’s name?”

“Hard solving a murder mystery when you don’t have all the pieces, isn’t it.” Maxine raised an eyebrow, looking like she was calculating the best way to lock Kieren up immediately.

“Angelica was her name,” Simon supplied, putting a hand on Kieren’s forearm, trying to hold him back. “We don’t know her surname.”

Maxine hummed at her pad. “The pathologist said that the cut was quick, clean and pathological. And now we have our prime suspect’s name. Let’s just try to keep our imagination in check, shall we, boys?” Maxine gave them a curt nod, accompanied by a tight smile, before walking back towards the school.

“I really hate her.” Kieren picked up the next metal rod and jammed it into the dirt.

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell.” Simon took up the job of string-bearer and followed behind Kieren as he went.

“She doesn’t know anything.” Kieren stabbed the next rod, not looking up as he spoke. “Quick, clean and pathological. Only adds to what I was saying earlier. The killer’s got military training. Angelica doesn’t have the muscles or the age to be a veteran soldier.”

“...if she’s being questioned, there’s probably nobody in her room right now.”

Simon was watching the school when Kieren straightened, squinting at him. “Simon, we can’t just go into her room.”

-

“I can’t believe we broke into her room,” Kieren whispered, thoroughly outraged with Simon. They were currently on the window ledge outside Angelica’s room, having to flee after they heard her return.

“And no blood-soaked evidence as proof,” Simon said ruefully, gripping a bit tighter as Kieren looked ready to push him. “...Doesn’t this metal bit look a bit like a fire escape?”

Kieren, dragging his eyes from the window to study his surrounding for the first time, felt slightly relieved. It didn’t look like Angelica was about to leave her room anytime soon, so the alternate exit was a godsend. “You first,” he offered, lest the path hadn’t been used for a while and it wasn’t safe. Simon got them into this mess, he’d have to parkour their way to safety.

They clambered along the path, hoping not to draw any attention to themselves as they did, but rushing in case someone spotted them from the ground. Simon stopped, too quickly for Kieren to do so without crashing into him, the momentum crushing Simon between him and the ledge.

“Sorry,” they both said, attempting to catch their breath. Kieren pulled himself up and back, offering a hand to pull Simon up. “Oh hey, look-” Kieren turned Simon around, pointing over the parapet to the garden below.

“This must be where they took that photo!” Simon leaned over the stone, arms folded on the wall as he looked out and across the land. “You can see a lot more without those conservatories in the way.”

“Do you think the dead grass is where they had concrete or metal dug into the ground?”

“Maybe for the four corners, but you can really see the lines of smaller holes from up here, look.” Simon pointed out the eight largest dark patches in the corners, which surrounded smaller rows of a different colour. “We could be looking at different things killing the grass.”

“Metal foundations and then…. pesticides maybe? Something used on the crops was left behind?”

“Or the crops themselves…” Simon looked around the roof, decorated at intervals with small, ovular statues. The ovals were imprinted with ‘v’s, and topped with crowns. He patted one.

“The jazzy king eggs?” Kieren asked, watching, confused.

“Kieren, they’re pineapples.”

“Oh. Right. They don’t look much like pineapples.”

“Oh and you could do better?” Simon asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hey, I wanted to be an artist. I’m told I was quite decent.”

“And making stone statues of pineapples was your forté?”

“Acrylics, but I’m sure I could do better than those…”

“You never told me you could draw before- have you ever done garden layouts?”

Kieren shook his head. “Those are those aerial view plan things right?”

Simon looked like he was considering something. “Maybe later, we could practise doing a couple? I honestly don’t mind doing them myself, but if this thing we’re doing is going to be a little more permanent, then maybe you’d like to have a bit more control in the design stages?”

A permanent job. It certainly wasn’t the first time Kieren had thought about it, to just continue doing this work with Simon. The pay wasn’t anything amazing, and he still didn’t have his own house, but he would admit he liked the job, and he liked Simon. He supposed he would enjoy it a bit more if he was given a little more control over their work, though he didn’t complain about letting Simon tell him what to do either.

Kieren’s parents still wanted him to go back into policing. They wanted him to move out of their house. While they enjoyed his company, and they thought it was quaint that he would start gardening as a break-up hobby, they wanted to see him achieving greatness, not slaving under the hand of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, thanks. That’s just pen and pencil, right?”

Simon looked chuffed, and he supposed he must have been thinking about asking for a while. Simon had, after all, just exited his own well-established job, had uprooted himself from the flat he’d been renting in London for years, was more used to plant science than weeding. Kieren supposed the two of them were keeping one another up.

“I think I did something like it in GCSE graphics,” Kieren said, trying to remember the house plan he’d had to design in tech. He seemed to remember a massive ruler and a lot of paper.

“Walker and Monroe’s Travelling Plant Pathology. Practically rolls off of the tongue.” Simon grinned, his hands splaying in the air as if holding a sign with the logo.

“Why am I first? Surely as the founder of the company it should be Monroe’s?”

“Monroe and Walker doesn’t sound as good.”

“So you’ve been thinking about it?” Kieren asked. “I’m not sure about the ‘Travelling Plant Pathology’, it sounds like a circus. Cirque du Pathologie.”

“Maybe it’d boost our sales. I’m double jointed, we can teach you how to breathe fire, read palms, I’m sure Bill would join in, he’d make a good ring-leader.”

“Amy’s always wanted to be a clown, Phillip could sell popcorn… I’m starting to think we should quit gardening.”

‘As long as we’re together’, Simon longed to say.

“We can work on names,” he said instead, smiling. “For our simple gardening income, not our grand dreams of the entertainment business.”

Kieren snorted, leaning on the ledge himself. “We could probably afford a flat if we get a room big enough for two singles. Make sure it says in our conditions that we have to be provided accommodation… do some odd jobs near the flat to keep us afloat...”

“I own a house, we could sell it, buy something slightly better nearer London.”

“You have a house?” Kieren frowned, this was news.

“My dad left it for me. Back in Ireland, so it’s not doing much good for me here.”

“Are you sure? Doesn’t it have sentimental value?”

“My father was a homophobic piece of shit who disowned me and left me homeless. Ironically only gave me the house so I could ‘keep it in the family’.”

Kieren ran a hand through his hair. “Is anyone living in it?”

“Last time I checked it was in the hands of a landlady, who looked after it instead of paying rent. I’ll give her 20%, should be able to get maybe fifty grand for ourselves.”

“And then you’d be able to afford a new car!” Kieren grinned, even as Simon whacked him on the arm.

“No amount could replace my beloved, Kieren.”

“One day, you’ll say that line to your fiancé, and they’ll think it’s right romantic.”

“Only you’ll have known I said it about my car first.” They laughed, before Kieren realised what Simon had said and attempted to continue laughing as naturally as possible. That was definitely an insinuation, a freudian slip. Thankfully, Simon didn’t seem to have noticed his own mistake.

A woman cleared her throat from behind them. “What exactly are you doing up here?” Mrs. Bagni asked in her best schoolmistress voice.

“Attempting to survey the area,” was Simon’s instant reply, spreading his arms wide as he turned towards the fields. We think we have a good idea how to impress those guests of yours this weekend.”

“You do? ...well then. Continue, if you must.”

-

“How’re the hairpins holding up?” Kieren asked as he passed, watching Simon burn the shit out of a vial of diluted soil.

“You’re a genius and I’m never going to complain again.” Simon didn’t look up from his rigorous experiment, but Kieren could hear the smile in his voice.

“Can I have that in writing?”

“I’ll write it in the house deeds,” Simon promised, “And the marriage vows.”

“I thought you two seemed happier,” Bill commented from his corner of their room, looking over the top of his newspaper with a cheesy grin on his face. “Are congratulations in order, then, my boys?”

“Oh no, no,” Kieren assured, going a tomato red.

“Not yet,” Simon said over the top of him, still not looking away from his science but shooting a thumbs up anyway.

Kieren kept thinking about Simon’s ‘mistake’ of a confession.

-

Kieren was digging around the storeroom for a trowel when he came across another old photo. Rather than showing the house, this one was relatively newer: a group photo of those who worked at the estate if their uniforms were anything to go by. The ladies in the photo were dressed in maid-outfits, on either side butlers and gardeners, young men you could only tell apart by shabby, ill-fitting work clothes versus pressed, tailored suits.

On the bottom row were two men Kieren recognised. A younger, far more handsome Bill, with an arm swung around Mr. Bagni’s neck. Both wore matching expressions of boyish affection. If it had been anyone but Kieren, you wouldn’t assume more- two lads who’d grown up as handymen on the estate. Except that Kieren had a photo of himself and Rick with expressions that were almost a mirror’s image.

“Ah, so you found it then…” Bill had his hat in his hands, sad eyes focused on the photo in Kieren’s hands. Bill had aged a lot quicker than his boss had, had gone grey faster, had shed weight, owned wrinkles.

“Fabrizio and I… we were living together perfectly fine until his missus arrived. She had a lot of money, he called it a whirlwind romance. He said, well, I could teach, I knew how to speak English, didn’t need more than that. But then rumours started, about how I’d been caught with a female student…” Bill put his hat on the table, pulling up a chair. “Twenty years after he’d left me for her and they still couldn’t let it rest.”

“...So they made you a gardener.”

“And a right hash I’ve made of that too. I don’t complain, not my place, and I’d always wished Fabrizio the best of lives. Was only bitter for a while, you understand, well, we’d just broken up, and he’d gone from partner to boss, but… but twenty years was a long time. I got over it after two, had moved on…”

“The student?” Kieren asked.

“...hah.” Bill rubbed tiredly at his face. “It wasn’t a female student. It was a male colleague. They couldn’t fire me for that, of course, even in those days, but I resigned as a teacher. Never wanted to be one anyway.”

“...and the colleague?”

“I’ve never told a soul, and I’m not starting now.” Bill winked, tapping his nose. “You boys are lucky. I’ve seen it in you, you’re similar souls, heartbroken but healing. You’d do best to heal together…”

“I doubt Simon is looking for a relationship, even if I was.”

Bill raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Unrequited love gone unwatered tends to lead to all kinds of saddening things... jealousy, for one. ...Murder.”

“You’ve not… murdered anyone, have you Bill?”

“Sixty years and counting and not a soul in heaven because of me. And yourself, Mr. Walker? Ever seen a stiff?”

“I worked in a morgue for a while while I was still police. Never put one there though.” Kieren dusted off the glass of the  photo with his sleeve, studying the faces a little closer. “You should hang this up. Own your past.”

Bill hummed his agreement. “You’re right. No point an old man like me hiding my skeletons in the closet. ...Would you mind?”

Kieren’s eyes lit up as he went to find a nail and a hammer. Having swept most of Bill’s tools into the storeroom’s back-room area, Kieren went to hunt around in there, leaving Bill at the table.

Kieren froze in the room, hearing the smack of Bill’s newspaper hit the floor. “You’ve been running your mouth off, have ya, Billy boy?” The characteristically masculine, smokey voice of Greg filtered through from the next room, along with a slightly choked noise. Kieren’s eyes squinted, pulling out his phone.

Bill knew Kieren was here, and with the element of surprise, they could probably overpower the man. The fact that Bill had remained quiet, Kieren hoped, meant Bill was attempting to bait the man into confession. Kieren closed the phone app and instead opened the microphone.

“Think you’re all that because we had a fuck in the classroom? Well look where you are now, down here, all alone. What happened to your big dreams? You used to talk about running this place, being the big-shot, becoming principal!”

“...you’re the one who killed Phil?” Bill asked, pain in his voice from the realisation of the murderer, not because of the threat to his own life. “...you’re trying to take over the school.”

“Inherit the money, more like.” Greg’s grip around Bill’s throat tightened as Bill squirmed. Greg reached for the plastic ties used to set saplings straight by binding them to wooden rods. “Y’see it was Phil who tattled on us to dear old Fabizio… little did he know you’d been fucking him too. Couldn’t have him blabbing his mouth to the missus, could I? Not when we would get married after her poor husband’s untimely death?”

Greg continued to wrap the plastic around Bill’s neck, a gurgle emitting from the old man. “It’s a shame, I used to really like you, thought you were the coolest shit.” Greg looked like he was taking a trip down memory lane, remembering the good old days. “God, you were so radical to a young man like me. A teacher? Out to the world? I’d have done anything for you.”

“Murder,” Bill suggested, even in his last breaths.

“Oh, no, not that, no. The murders are all for myself, you see. Now that you’re past your prime and living as a dingey little mud-monkey, I have no use for you or your wagging tongue-” Greg sounded like he’d probably have continued, if it weren’t for the plant-pot shattering across his skull, sending him sprawling on the floor from the impact.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait any longer,” Kieren apologised, reaching for scissors to cut off the plastic still choking Bill. Freed, Bill rasped, watching Greg’s unconscious body warily from his seat.

“I think you need to choose your boyfriends better,” Kieren said, blood pumping, slightly breathless from the adrenaline.

“Kieren? Bill?” Simon came bursting through the door, nearly tripping over Greg. “I heard a smash- Jesus Christ, there is a body on the floor.”

“He’s not dead,” Kieren reassured. “I think, shit, I don’t know, I hope he’s not dead.”

Bill crouched, checking for a  pulse. “Not dead. Plenty of jail time, I should think, will set him straight.”

Kieren laughed at Bill’s wink, confusing Simon even further.

-

The next two days were days of hard graft for the gardeners, but by weekend, Fabrizio and his wife had a result they sure as hell didn’t deserve.

“I told you it’d look beautiful,” Simon said as they sat back the evening before the guests were to arrive. Kieren hummed, plans in hand. The design was the fourth they’d tried today, and he still sounded unsure. “If you want to change the order again, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you.”

“I just- I want something Bill can be proud to take care of…”

“Kieren, it’s amazing. Trust me.”

“I rarely do anything else.”

-

“They won’t last, of course, you can’t really expect them to grow in the British weather, but…” Simon and Kieren were guiding the pair across the lawn- now sporadically lined with wooden flower boxes made from the old conservatories. Within them (and covering the yellow-brown patches of soil,) were pineapple plants, complete with their own baby pineapples.

“You said your guests were from Okinawa- they grow pineapples there. You can explain to them the history of the estate. Hopefully they’ll think it’s a nice gesture of your understanding the history of the estate and linking it with their culture.”

Fabrizio oohed and ahhed as he followed them, the group stopping in the middle where Bill was waiting.

“And of course,” Simon said, coming to put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “We couldn’t have done it without Bill’s impeccable knowledge on the estate’s history.”

-

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay if we leave?” Kieren asked for the third time, leaning out of the car window to make sure Bill was fine.

“Boys, you’ve done more than enough for me.”

“But Fabrizio, surely he’ll go back to mistreating you once we’re gone?”

“That old boy?” Bill laughed. “His wife has promised to make me Estate Manager for my troubles. Fancy title for gardener, I know, but it’s a title all the same.”

Simon had never seen Kieren look more relieved, more relaxed than at that moment. “Not going to retire after all that mess?”

“Oh I think i’ll be working on this garden until the day I die. Probably after, too. Be the first gardening ghost.”

“You’ll make the most charming ghost,” Kieren laughed.

“I think that’s perhaps the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Bill leaned on his gardening fork, cheeks glowing a rosy colour. “Strange, but charming. And you boys, you’re more detectives than gardeners! What are you going to do?”

“Detectives? Psh, apparently we’re only ‘flower boys’,” Kieren dismissed, remembering the DI’s words.

“No, no, that won’t do, you’re not doing yourselves enough credit. You’re gardening detectives.”

“How’d you fancy that?” Simon laughed. “Gardening detectives!” He poked Kieren in the side, making him sit back safely in the car.

“I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.” Kieren looked adamant not to smile at Simon, so he made up for it by laughing even harder.

“Well whatever you are, I hope you’re happy.” Bill tapped the side of the car, telling them to get on leaving. “And Simon, you keep at it. The most stubborn plants bloom the prettiest, after all.”


	5. A Simple Plot

# Episode 5- A Simple Plot

“God, Charles was a whirlwind of a Professor.” Kieren smiled at the memory of the woman, who’d once gone for three weeks only lecturing in Latin to prove a point she couldn’t remember after the fourth day.

“Really? I was so shy when I started lecturing,” Simon reminisced, fond smile to his face. “Barely out of uni myself, god, I looked about as old as you do now, I knew no-one would take me seriously.”

“Hey.” Kieren hit Simon’s arm. “People take me seriously.” Simon laughed as he changed gear, slowing down as they neared the allotments. “Charles would only give you an extension on an essay if you bought her something for her garden.”

“I thought you said Charles was a Classics Professor?”

“She was, but she liked to garden. Said it cleared her head. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your shears!” Kieren mimed being a General, fist clenched before him.

“Policeman, artist and now actor, is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Walker?” Simon gave Kieren an impressed nod of the head as they pulled up into the carpark.

“Sir, I can’t bake meringues, Sir. Bake full stop, to be honest.”

“And here I was, thinking you might fill my life with fresh-baked croissants.” Simon hoped he wasn’t about to adopt a teacher-student kink. He sweated off the thought of Kieren in his old university office. God, they were only a few years apart, age-wise, but Simon couldn’t help but think of himself as John, wooing a man much younger than himself.

“Charles!” Kieren greeted as he spotted the old woman across the garden, cutting though Simon’s guilty thoughts.

“Eh? Oh, young Walker.” The woman squinted, turning towards the sounds of their footsteps. “And who’s that with you? Not one of your young men is it, you know I don’t approve.”

“You used to call Amy a horny handed daughter of the soil when you thought I was straight, Charles, do you remember that?”

“I never said anything of the sort.” Charles held her hand out in their direction, Simon swooping in to catch and shake it.

“Pleasure, Ma’am, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Never did like the Irish.” She sniffed, removing her hand, not-so-subtly wiping it against her trousers. “Now where’s that dog of mine. Tiberius!” she called, taking a couple of steps back down the path.

Simon, attempting to be courteous, caught her elbow, wanting to help guide her while her dog was missing, but she ripped her arm away from him, sending him a scandalous frown. “I’m blind, not incompetent.”

Simon sent a saddened puppy look at Kieren, who was attempting to stifle his laughter. “Should have told you not to interfere with Charles when she’s on a mission.”

“You were the only one to treat me right, boy.” Charles nodded, continuing down the path, occasionally whistling for her dog.

Kieren laughed outright that time, crossing his arms as they followed. “With disdain and thinly veiled disapproval.”

“And yet here you are, inheriting my allotment.”

Throughout their adventures in househunting, the two hadn’t been able to budget a garden on top of already extortionate London prices. Just as they’d started to fear they’d have to make do and mend with fixing other people’s gardens instead of their own, Charles had called, saying she’d been in hospital one-too-many times and despised letting her famous garden space (owned by her since the allotment was created sixty years ago,) be sold to developers.

“And here we are, inheriting your allotment.”

Charles sniffed again. “I’m not putting his name on the form, I’m giving it to you, Mr. Walker and I expect you to keep it.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different,” Kieren assured, “Can’t let my business partner get a one-up on me.”

“Did you not have any family you wanted to give the place to?” Simon asked. He was definitely grateful, but he didn’t want to be taking something from her kin.

“As if I needed family.” Charles snorted. “Survived eighty years perfectly well on my own, thank you very much. Oh, yes, that reminds me. You’ll have to go and talk to that woman, the banker, tell her that you’re owning the place now.”

“Do you have a name to go with the profession?” Kieren asked.

“Oh, whassit. Dainty something. Albert. Angel. ...Alice. Alice Dainty. Ridiculous name.”

“Whatever you say, Charles.” Kieren was hit over the head with a mud-covered hand.

“Don’t you talk back at me, Mr. Walker.” She sat at her bench, Tiberius coming to heel besides her. “There’s one of those darned meetings tonight, you might as well go instead of me, starting today. Always hated the things.”

“Okay?” Kieren agreed, tentatively. They weren’t on a job for another couple of days, and could probably afford the time. “What exactly are you making us attend?”

“Allotment meeting. Debates, votes, that kind of mindless drivel. Dainty hosts them. You get free booze if you stay till the end.” She looked up at where Kieren was standing. “Your Irish boy will like that.”

“Not all of the Irish are drunks, Charles.” Kieren huffed, obviously well-versed in attempting to pacify the lady.

Who, in turn, was well-versed in not giving a shit what Kieren thought. She sat back like she owned the Queen herself, not caring that she was ‘entertaining’ guests, more than content to bathe in the soft afternoon sunlight.

“You were going to show us your lavender,” Kieren prompted after a couple of minutes had elapsed, when both were fairly sure she wasn’t asleep.

“Mmm?” If she had been, she’s been asleep with her eyes open, not that it would have made much of a difference. “Oh yes.” As she stood, her foot caught under a stray paving slab and she tripped, almost falling face-first into the ground if it weren’t for Simon diving to catch her, using his own body to soften the fall.

Simon and Charles both let out a pained moan as the lay on the path, Kieren trying to alleviate some of the weight off of Simon by helping to roll Charles off of him. “Light as a feather,” Simon tried to laugh, but quietened when Charles’ moans didn’t stop, her voice small and hurt.

“Kieren, call an ambulance.”

-

“It’s not safe for you to have slabs that aren’t attached to the ground with concrete, not with your vision.” Simon had tactfully ignored the red rims around Kieren’s eyes as he’d returned from the bathroom after the news Charles would be okay.

“They are, I’m telling you,” Charles grumbled from her bed, wincing as she moved her sprained ankle. “I had a lad come in a month ago to fix them, he fixed all the paths in the place. Not a stone could be unturned, was what he said.”

Kieren tried to ignore how Charles’ voice quivered like she was suddenly unsure, like she was confused, that she might have forgotten…

“Is your Irish boy there?” Charles asked with slightly less venom than a couple hours previous.

“Yes I am, Charles.” Simon tried injecting some sun into his voice, but with a bruised butt that hurt every time he sat, he wasn’t feeling particularly ecstatic.

Charles hummed, eyes lowered to her duvet as if she could feel his gaze. “Well. Thank you. I may have an ego, but I know when to thank a man.” She held out her hand, slightly shakier than previously, and Simon caught it with a grin shot to Kieren.

Simon hadn’t met any of Kieren’s family other than Jem, who’d given him a light-hearted ribbing and a possibly encouraging wink as she’d left, but for some reason this felt like an acknowledgement. An endorsement of his wooing efforts. “I’m still not writing his name on the deed,” Charles said after letting go, as if Simon had disappeared from the room. He smiled. Well. It had been nice while it lasted.

“Irish boy.”

“Yes, Charles?”

“You like dogs?”

“Never had one, Ma’am.”

“Never too late to start. Tiberius is at my house. Take him on a walk. I wish to speak with Kieren.”

Charles fumbled at her bedside table, pulling out her house keys. “Take his food, that dratted toy and look after him while I’m in here.”

Kieren could only smile apologetically as Charles explained how to get to her house, how Tiberius liked to be fed, and what she would do if so much as a hair on Tiberius’ head moulted wrong.

-

Simon was standing surveying the hall they were in as Kieren sat besides him, trying to pretend like he wasn’t still laughing at Simon’s first attempt at sitting on the hard plastic. At the front of the hall was the woman they’d been introduced to on entry as Alice Dainty, who’d given them a wide smile and shaken their hands eagerly.

“Pretty impressive to own all this lot at her age,” Simon said softly, leaning closer in case someone heard.

Kieren nodded, impressed by the lady’s stature, reminding him a lot of Jem. “Both eyes on the horizon, women like her.”

“You’re the only thing she’s got her eyes on.” Simon nudged him as the room started to settle, carefully letting himself down onto the seat.

“What?” Kieren’s genuine smile turned fake as he stopped himself from frowning.

“She’s not stopped staring at you since we walked in, Mr. Walker,” Simon teased, satisfied smile on his own face.

“And why do you look so happy about it?” Kieren asked, accidentally meeting the woman’s eye for the third time since Simon had mentioned her.

“I’m finding it cute that our queer Kieren is blushing because of miss eager over there.”

“I’m pan.”

The satisfaction on Simon’s face started to fade in steadily quickening increments. “Would you be interested in someone like her?” he asked, eyes locked on the woman at the front of the room. He sounded like he was starting to panic.

“What do you mean, someone like her? She’s not started talking yet.”

“First impressions- rich business woman, full-on, apple-pie life?”

“My first impression of you was that you thought I was an escort, so maybe let’s not try to judge people on looks, shall we?”

Simon’s eyes widened, not turning his head in case Kieren notice his shock. “You thought I was trying to pick you up in a B&B dining room?” Simon tried for nonchalance, overshooting by about five miles and sounding mortally wounded instead.

“Well,” Kieren huffed, “You kept staring.”

“You were crying! In public! I was being a concerned civilian! I can’t believe you thought I was some kind of- jesus, Kieren.”

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” Kieren wrapped his arms around himself, defensive.

“What, and that means I’ll go for any meat dangling in front of me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That is exactly what you said.”

“And because I’m pan i’ll jump on the first rich woman who gives me the eye? Maybe try to give me some credit before you ask for some yourself, Simon.”

Simon bit his lip, knowing he was beat, and that he’d probably taken two steps back in the don’t-scare-off-Kieren attempt. Flirting was a lot harder when you didn’t have the whole hate-sex dynamic to remind you that the flirting was, in some sense, working.

“Sorry.” He meant it, wholeheartedly. Why should he let his jealousy keep Kieren from- ...anything. Kieren didn’t in any sense belong to Simon. Simon had a one-sided crush that Kieren didn’t know about, that much was obvious by how blasé he’d been about how hilarious it would have been for Simon to have been looking for an escort.

Why shouldn’t Kieren have carnal desires like a lot of the population? Was Kieren not allowed to feel attracted to attractive ladies? Simon berated himself again- he’d been the one to suggest that, anyway, and Kieren didn’t seem the least bit interested in holding her gaze. Besides, it was obvious Rick still held a lot of Kieren in his grasp. Simon had just hoped that he might have been the one to replace Rick, to heal Kieren of his maladies.

He shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, leg no longer touching Kieren’s where before they’d been pressed together without a second thought.

“Yeah.” Simon dragged himself out of his thoughts at Kieren’s acknowledgement of the apology. “Me too. Sorry. I guess Charles’ fall shook me up.”

Simon gave Kieren a sympathetic elbow touch, thinking better of patting the man’s thigh at the last moment. Unable to think of a reply, he raised his eyes, almost thankfully, towards the podium where Alice now stood, clearing her throat.

“We all know that gardening is hard work.” Alice paused to let the agreeing applause die down a little, a successful start if Simon had ever heard one. “A mixture of hard graft and creativity, a true art.” Another sweep of proud cheers. Alice smiled, baring teeth, shoulders set confidently as she looked about the room. “That’s why, I’d like to reward you all for what you do.”

Her pause this time was met with a hesitant silence, remnants of smiles still on unsure lips as her audience decided what exactly she was talking about.

“In return for your hard work over the years, I would like to offer, in association with McCorbin’s building company-” her smile remained the same, even as angered, hushed whispers spread around the people, the occasionally less-hushed shout of protest permeating. “Ten grand each for each allotment space sold to us within the next three months.”

“Ten grand!” came a collection of shocked voices, varying degrees of positivity.

“You ain’t getting our land, you money-grabbing lech!” was one side of the pole, “I could pay for Leo’s hospital bill,” the other.

“Listen, listen,” Alice calmed, at least looking sincere in her worry. “I don’t want this place to go as much as the rest of you…” there were a couple of hisses, but the room was mostly silent as she continued. “I’ve grown up here alongside you sorry lot,” a couple of reluctant smiles, “and I know how much you guys love the place. For some of you it’s like a second home… for others, it’s like you don’t leave the place.” A burst of laughter as they looked towards some of the more enthusiastic gardeners.

“She knows how to work her crowd,” Simon said into Kieren’s ear, the pair able to see the whole room’s reactions from where they sat near the back. Kieren nodded, obviously listening to the woman’s words more than Simon’s, so he sat back in his seat.

“But I’ll be honest. It’s not just the gardening that’s hard work. Go out to your allotments tomorrow and look around the horizon. Some of you have already pointed out about the fumes, the traffic noises, we’re practically walled in by office buildings on all sides of the gardens.” A ripple of nods followed her words.

“You’re not young anymore, you all know that. When a lot of you aren’t able to continue, your land won’t be bought. Your families won’t want your space, they won’t be able to sell… the spaces will be a hinderance on them.”

Simon’s eyebrow rose as he glanced around the room, seeing people who were listening to her words, hearing truth in them. He turned to Kieren, who was wearing a similar expression.

Simon cleared his throat. “Your waiting list is four years long,” he said into the silence Alice had been building. Her face, the picture of sympathy, crumbled with one arched brow, as the room turned from hanging on to her every word.

He felt Kieren’s eyes the most, his downturned lips. “I was looking to buy, if Charles changed her mind and didn’t want to give it to us,” he explained to Kieren, trying to shake the feeling of guilt. Simon cleared his throat again, realising he was in it for the long-haul and choosing to adopt his lecturer voice. “Simon Monroe, by the way, this is Kieren Walker, we’re taking over Charles’ plot after this month.”

The whispers returned, though as to what they were saying, Simon couldn’t tell, not when the spotlight was shining so bright on himself. “The waiting list to get a plot of land like this? In the middle of London? I wouldn’t disbelieve you if you said people would kill for a place.”

The room turned, as one, to watch Alice tilt her head with an unfazed smile. “These Londoners? Who would buy your land and sell it the moment they realised that gardening is not for them? Oh come on, we’ve all seen the turnover of residents younger than thirty.”

“Maybe you should do an anonymous vote?” Simon suggested with a small shrug. He wasn’t about to tell these people to give up either their hard work or the prospect of ten grand, even if he could feel Charles’ adamance not to sell down his back like a breath.

Alice nodded, slowly at first, considering, until she decided that that was indeed a good idea. “How would you all feel towards an anonymous vote?” there was a general smattering of approving voices. “Well then. No time like the present, hmm? You, Mr. Monroe, was it? You and Mr. Walker can count the votes.”

Alice turned, collecting a box that looked well-worn from countless votes over the years. By the look of the orderly line forming to one side of the room, they’d been reduced to anonymous votes hundreds of times. They’d all brought their own pens, too, though whether that was a gardener’s trait, with a lot of lunch breaks with only the sudoku and the Times crossword for company.

The voting itself took less than ten minutes, and their counting of said votes, with no duds, just simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’s even less. Simon climbed the podium when everyone had settled again, holding his scrap of paper, on which they’d tallied the answers. “With 14 to 6, you have agreed not to sell the land.”

There was a jubilant hurrah from the fourteen, respectfully beaten shrugs from most of the six. Only one stood up, face seething. “This wasn’t part of the deal,” she shot at Alice, then at the fourteen. “You don’t know what you’re doing you senile bastards.”

“Well.” Alice took back the microphone, smiling as the red-faced man left, slamming the door. “I’d like to invite you all to take a free drink as celebration as to your success.”

Even those who’d voted for the opposition looked pleased now as chairs were scraped back and shoes shuffled to the back where a barman was ready for a night of pulling pints.

“Mr. Walker?” As Simon and Kieren were about to step off the slightly raised platform, they turned back to Alice, who’d finished turning off the microphone and clearing the ballots. “A chat, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Privately? Or…?” Kieren indicated Simon with a small tilt of the head.

“Oh, no, I’ll be quick, things to do, souls to buy and all that.” She winked at Simon’s concerned face, grinning. “It was about your contract- I received all the paperwork on Charles’ side, but if possible I’d like to ask you a couple of things…” she pulled out her phone, tapping until she got to her calendar. “Oh drat, busy week… you wouldn’t be free tomorrow evening? Let’s get dinner.”

Taken aback by the woman’s personality, Kieren turned to Simon for help, but with met with the same sense of confusion.

“Of course I understand, you’re a new business, don’t have much time off, always doing paperwork…”

Simon shrugged at Kieren this time. They’d not done an amazing amount of paperwork at all, which in turn was making him a bit suspicious. He’d have to look into what kind of stuff they’d not been doing properly recently.

“Dinner sounds good?”

“Good. I have your number, I’ll text you the time and address tomorrow.” She held out her hand first for Kieren to shake, and then Simon. “Nice meeting you both.”

“Yeah, you too,” they agreed as one, though too late, watching as she was already greeting another of the landowners.

“Dinner.” Simon sounded suspicious, even to his own mind, so he shrugged it off. “Best teach you how to use a knife and fork, Kier.”

“Fuck off.”

Simon grinned to himself, pleased as Kieren whacked him. It meant they were joking again, so he was forgiven.

-

Kieren was starting to pack up Charles’ tools after a day of getting used to the allotment. They’d decided they’d mostly keep what Charles had done for now, but what swap the areas around, using one of the beds as an experimenting site for future ventures.

Simon raised a questioning eyebrow, leaning back on his haunches. It was barely five yet, and they’d not quite finished what they’d planned to do today.

“I’ve got to get back early for my dinner date,” Kieren explained, unwinding Tiberius’ leash from the post he’d been tied to.

“Oh.” It had been a nice day for Simon, quiet, with only Kieren, Tiberius and the flowers for company. “Right,” he said, reality coming crashing back to him. The drive home was quiet, Simon only giving monosyllabic responses to Kieren’s attempts at conversation. Even Tiberius seemed to know to keep quiet on the back seat.

“And what time will you be coming back tonight?” was the first thing Simon could bring himself to ask, once they’d arrived home and he’d trailed after Kieren to the bedroom.

Kieren buttoned the top button of his shirt, looking in the mirror beyond his reflection to where Simon was sat on his bed, watching. “I’m only going for dinner.” He brushed off a few black hairs- though how Tiberius’ hair had already made its way onto his clothing he really didn’t know.

Simon crossed his arms, disapprovingly raising an eyebrow.

“Simon, I’m going to dinner to discuss Charles’ tenancy agreements. Or did you want to live without your own garden?”

“I wasn’t the one to call it a date.”

Kieren rolled his eyes at Simon’s petulant snort, doing one last mirror check. “Don’t wait up.”

Simon held out the car keys, reluctant, but Kieren shook his head, walking past. “I’ll get a taxi.”

“You’re going to drink?” Simon asked, incredulous. “With the banker? With sensitive documents and pens around?”

“God, Simon, you don’t have to be so suspicious.” Kieren stuffed his phone, wallet and house keys in his pocket, waving at Simon as he left.

“Well.” Simon came downstairs to watch the door close, then went to the kitchen to feed Tiberius. Simon had never especially liked dogs, but he patted Tiberius’ ears in a way the dog seemed to like, and ended up on the floor for more than an hour telling Tiberius how stupid Kieren was. Tiberius didn’t seem to mind, he’d moved past sob-stories and was quite enjoying his belly-rub.

-

The restaurant they were meeting at was far pricier than Kieren had been anticipating- he regretted his tieless dark shirt and jeans the moment he saw the place. Alice seemed less worried about his fitting in. She hailed him over to her table with a smile.

“Right, business first- you’ve brought the signed deeds?” she asked, holding out her hand as he passed over the documents.

“Any questions?”

“Uh, I- I mean I didn’t really read it because I don’t understand documents, so no questions.”

“Good, well then, if that’s over with.” Alice took the wad of paper, briefly scanning the pages for his signature before nodding and slipping it into her awaiting bag. “Are you sure you have no professional questions?” she asked with a concerned tilt of the head once the papers had disappeared.

“Nope, seemed pretty simple to me.”

“Good! Well then. I’ve already ordered. I hope you don’t mind beef.”

Kieren shook his head, bemused at her dropping of her business-like coldness the moment the transaction was completed. Their meal was oddly comfortable- like any true white-collar worker, Alice had a way of making sure Kieren was always talking and she was always listening, making sure she knew far more about him than he her.

“And there’s no missus on your end?” Alice asked, swirling her wine in her glass.

“Uh, not really... I’ve lost a few along the way, I guess.” Kieren shrugged. It probably made the value of the property lower if he was a bachelor- less chance he’d abandon it for wife and kids.

Alice hummed, leaning forwards slightly. Kieren kept his eyes firmly on hers, wondering when exactly he would grow out of his immaturity around the concept of cleavage. He tried not to panic.

“Lost a few?” she asked. “Intriguing. What exactly could you mean?”

“I er- had a fiancé.” Kieren held up his now-empty ring-finger. Even the amount of gardening they’d been doing hadn’t been enough to fade the pale tan-line wrapping it.

Alice raised her eyebrows, looking shocked but gleeful. “No way, what a coincidence! I was practically left at the altar by my penis of an ex… didn’t know how to commit, was his problem. I don’t think I’ve trusted a man again.”

Kieren laughed, self-consciously placing his hands back on his lap as he felt Alice’s leg brushing against his and staying there. He shifted and tucked his legs under his chair. Alice’s smile just grew.

“What a waste, hmm? Two young beauties like ourselves, left by our ingrate exes...” Alice poured herself more wine. “Tell me, was your fiancé as beautiful as you?”

“Er…” Kieren tried to hide himself behind his own glass, taking sips just to have something to occupy himself with. “I- I don’t think I’d have called him, er, beautiful.”

“And whyever not?” Alice asked, not even batting an eyelid. “Come on, you must have photos. God, it’s so refreshing to meet beautiful boys with handsome exes. I’m absolutely gagging on men with the same sexual history.” She held her hand out, motioning her fingers for his phone.

Kieren clenched his jaw but… he’d not talked about Rick for months now, other than with Simon, who seemed dead-set on calling the man every name under the sun, and with Jem, who was mostly just business-casual about the relationship. She still worked under him, after all, even if she had claimed she’d been close to sporking his eyes out.

He took out his phone and swiped to the oldest photos in his camera roll.

“Oh hello, a bobbie!” Alice swiped through the photos, practically salivating. “...these uniforms real?”

It took a moment for Kieren to realise what she meant. “Oh god, yes, he’s a detective, not a stripper.”

“You were right, not a tad beautiful. Reminds me of a man I used to date in college. Frightful bastard but abs like a washboard.”

“He was ripped,” Kieren admitted. “Stubborn though, scared of emotions.”

“Oh do I know the type. Hypermasculine, the lot of them. More fit to be a statue.” She shook her head as she handed back his phone. “See, you can smile!” she was positively beaming at having coerced a genuine smile onto Kieren’s lips.

“It’s been a long time since anybody’s talked relationships with me without treading on glass.”

“That business partner of yours?”

“Simon? Yeah, I guess. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him say a good thing about Rick.”

Alice hummed again, before refilling Kieren’s glass. “Well. Some people are like wasps. Look like bees, turn out only to sting.”

Kieren laughed at the thought of Simon as a wasp. “I don’t think he has too many waspish tendencies, to be honest.”

Alice dropped the metaphor. “So nothing since your boy Rick, then?”

“Uh, not had the time. Start-up business, house-hunting, gotta make a living before I think about uh, moving on.”

“Well. You can rely on me if you need any help.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Kieren hadn’t met many bankers before, but they were turning out to be a lot nicer than he’d been led to believe.

“I think you’re the most vibrant man I’ve ever met, Kieren Walker. I find your enthusiasm extremely attractive.”

Oh.

”Christ, er, thank you?”

Alice took out her wallet, laying notes on the silver tray with their meal’s bill on it. While her wallet was out, she took out a business card, sliding it across the table.

“Oh- er- I’ll half- and you gave me a card before-” it was suddenly getting very overwhelming, and Kieren was starting to feel like a rent-boy earning his meal.

“Oh don’t you trouble yourself. I enjoyed the meal. The card’s got my personal number on it.” Alice stood, holding out her arm. “Escort me out, Mr. Walker?”

“I- yeah-” Kieren scrambled to his feet, stuffing the business card into his pocket, taking her arm and being led out of the restaurant.

“Can I give you a lift anywhere?” she asked, hailing a taxi.

“No- no thank you, I uh- I’ll get my own-”

Alice got in the car, legs swinging in last. “If you’re sure. Well darling, it’s been a blast. We really must do it again soon.” Kieren nodded, watching as she shut the door with a blown kiss and the taxi pulled away.

He had to wait another five minutes for his own to arrive so he checked his phone- one missed call from Simon from two hours ago, sans voicemail. A text though, which Kieren clicked.

{At hospital w/ Charles. No phone signal. Meet here when done.}

-

Kieren had been trying to tell himself that Simon was just being dramatic. The man had been incredibly childish the last few days, teasing and poking and joking around. Kieren had known Simon long enough to recognise that Simon was just trying to cheer Kieren up, but it irked Kieren that he got so up himself and protective whenever Kieren was trying to make new friends.

It was because of Rick and Kieren knew it- throughout their final years together, Rick had been trying to keep Kieren at home, by himself, away from both of their families, from his job, his friends. He’d barely seen Amy and Philip, Jem, even Henry until their breakup. He couldn’t put all  of his eggs in one basket again- job, relationship, family, everything had been so intermingled with Rick. They’d grown up together with Philip and Henry, they worked together, also with Henry and Jem, Philip’s parents were friends with everyone else’s- so Kieren had lost them all, they’d all taken (in his mind at least,) Rick’s side. Simon’s trying to be protective, to keep Kieren sane by driving off strangers, was having the adverse effect.

He startled when the taxi driver shook him lightly on the arm. “Er here, Sir,” she said, as if she’d been trying to rouse him for a couple of minutes and was starting to lose patience.

“Right, thanks.” Kieren passed her a tenner and let her keep the change, walking through the hospital’s entrance, past the front desk and up into the lifts. It was eerie, past visiting hours, with all of the gift shops and cafés closed, dark, with no visitors lugging bouquets and balloons. It was only once the lift doors had closed and he’d pressed the button for the fifth floor that he realise why the scene was eerie.

No visitors.

He felt his heart drop with the pull of the elevator, his centre of gravity shifting. The fifth floor couldn’t come soon enough- as soon as the doors started to part he slid through them, sideways, turning left down the corridor at a pace that couldn’t be considered running but sure as hell wasn’t walking.

By the time he got to the ward desk he could hear his blood in his ears. The lady behind the desk recognised him from what was only hours earlier, that much was obvious by the shift on her face from dozed and bored to sympathetic.

“Mr. Walker…” She looked over her shoulder, Kieren following her glance. Charles’ bed was empty, though the seat beside it wasn’t.

“But she was healthy, she only sprained her ankle.”

The nurse was coming around the desk, putting her hand to his arm as she guided him to the waiting room chairs opposite the desk. She sat him down as his gaze watered, eyes burning from the building tears, a lump forming in his throat.  

“She had a stroke, it’s very common for patients like her after having an accident like she had, to overwork themselves and find that they’ve overexerted their bodies.”

Another nurse was taking her place behind the desk, but saw them and walked towards the hunched body in the chair beside Charles’ now-absent bed. “It was a quick death. She won’t have suffered,” the nurse told him as the two approached. “And she wasn’t alone when she passed.”

Kieren felt a hand in his hair, fingers stroking from top to ear as Simon came into view, crouching before him, one hand cupping Kieren’s cheek. Simon’s eyes were red, still glistening with tears. His cheeks were red from where he’d pressed his face into his hands when he’d been (Kieren guessed,) sobbing. “Hey,” Simon whispered, voice carrying a slight croak.

“I should have- I should have picked up your call- I should have met with Alice tomorrow-”

“Hey, hey, you couldn’t have known. It was already- when I called you she’d already…” Simon looked tense, his eyes full of consolation.

“I was laughing while she died- god, Simon, what am I going to do-” Kieren’s heart hurt, hurt about everything, hurt because he’d been criticising Simon the entire night, talking about him while he watched Kieren’s friend and mentor die, bore the brunt of watching someone die, Simon had probably felt helpless, lonely as he sat here, wondering how he’d break the news to the selfish Kieren, who’d not answered his phone, who’d spent his night having fun-

-but this wasn’t about Kieren, or Simon, this was about Charles-

He’d not said goodbye, he’d not been there, there were so many things he had to ask-

“C’mon Kier, let’s get you home.” Kieren nodded, allowing himself to be dragged up from the chair, Simon’s hand wrapping around his waist to steady him.

“Simon,” the second nurse’s voice was soft as she called them. Kieren noted the use of his first name; obviously Simon had been hanging around for a while. “Remember to ask about the next of kin.” Kieren felt Simon nod beside him, saying his farewells before they resumed their getaway.

“Next of kin?” Kieren asked in the car, a daunting feeling dawning.

“They couldn’t find any record of family… apparently you’re Charles next of kin. You need to identify her body.”

Kieren had had to accompany victim’s family to identify bodies before and he’d seen how it broke people. He had never wanted to be that person for anyone.

“It means you have to do her funeral as well, Kier.”

“Right.” Kieren’s voice was small, drowned out by the motor.

“It’s okay to resent the responsibility, Kieren. You never asked to be her next of kin, and you’re only young. It’s a lot to take on for a good friend at best.”

Kieren could feel the weight of Simon’s eyes, flicking over to him when it was safe not to look at the road.

-

As soon as they got in, Kieren made the excuse of wanting to change in their bedroom. Simon came up a half-hour later, knocking on the door. “I made tea,” he offered, hoping that that would help lull Kieren.

“Still changing.” They both knew it was a lie- even if Simon had been occupied with making the tea for a full half-hour he’d have heard the sound of silence- Kieren hadn’t even bothered to pretend to open a wardrobe.

“Would you like me to call Jem? Amy? Kieren, talk to me, let me know how to help you.”

“Fuck off, Simon, leave me alone.”

“It’s not healthy, you should talk to someone. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll get Amy to come, she always knows how to calm you down…”

“They’re not your friends, Simon, you don’t get to meddle- to tell them things-”

Simon sighed, sounding weary. ”I’m just trying to help…”

“I don’t need your help! I’m not a child!”

“And I’m not your mother, just tell me what I can do.”

“Leave me alone, Simon.” Kieren sat on the bed panting for a few more seconds, then minutes, listening for the sounds of Simon, for a slammed door, for shuffling feet, for the creak of floorboards, but there was nothing. No rumble of the jeep’s engine, no click of the kettle. No rattle of the doorknob that they both knew was unlocked between them.

Kieren started to cry when he eventually heard the bottom step creak, the only one on their staircase to do so. He fell asleep surprisingly easily- this morning’s hard work at the garden seemingly years ago, the alcohol still in his veins from dinner, the relentless pull of deep-seated sadness.

-

Kieren woke up alone and stiff and cold. He shivered, only in his shirt, sleeping ontop of the covers. Of Simon’s bed, he realised. There wasn’t much difference between the two singles, they had the same cheap bedding, same cheap pillows, but Kieren’s bed was closer to the window, Simon’s to the door. He rubbed at his eyes, knowing from the sting they’d be red and swollen.

Simon must have left some time last night, after Kieren had fallen asleep. He yawned, inhaling and exhaling until his lungs hurt, then went to shower. When he came back, the bed was made and he could see the t-shirt Simon had been wearing last night in the laundry basket.

So Simon hadn’t gone out. He must have slept on the sofa. There was no sign of Simon in the room so he changed, slowly, wondering what to say.

Kieren had been out of line.

Charles was dead and Kieren was next of kin.

Simon was not being helpful by crowding Kieren in.

He took the steps loudly, letting Simon know he was coming. He checked the kitchen first, but it was empty, no sign of recent use but for the two mugs in the drying-rack, most likely the tea Simon had made last night.

He found Simon on the sofa, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. The sofa didn’t look very slept-on, no blankets or bunched-up cushions. The dark bags on Simon’s pale skin didn’t help make him look…. good.

“Stop trying to make me yours.” It wasn’t what Kieren had wanted to open the conversation with, but that must have been what his mind deemed most important. Simon didn’t startle so much as stifle a sigh.

“That was never my intention.” Simon moved up on the sofa, huddling in on himself as he did so.

“I thought you would leave me. Go somewhere.”

Simon paused for a long time, still watching the wall, until he sniffed, pulling himself back from his mind. His shrug and half-smile were both one-sided, half-hearted, an attempt at jovial. “Nowhere else to go.”

Kieren hugged himself, taking a small step towards the sofa. He knew Simon’s parents were both dead, but with a thundering sense of guilt, he realised he’d never asked about any of Simon’s friends, the rest of his family. Simon had never volunteered any information either: Kieren only knew Simon was Irish because of his damned accent. Kieren took the other side of the sofa, awkwardly perching on his spot. Simon addressed his smile at Kieren, who tilted his head, indicating he’d like to hear more if Simon was willing to tell it.

“Disowned and homeless at fifteen, moved to England at seventeen, made a couple of uni friends, got too political for them, became a lecturer, made friends, got promoted because of sexual activity with the boss, lost friends, lost John, lost job.”

“Nowhere else to go,” Kieren echoed. Kieren had always thought of himself as clinging on to Simon like a lost puppy, abandoned, with nothing to do but to do what he was told. Kieren sighed, exasperated at himself for being so wrapped in his own heartbreak. Loneliness was a two way street.

“I’m going to try to apply to be a lecturer again.” Simon’s voice was emotionless, betrayed how worn out he was.

“What? Why?” Kieren didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but it was hard when it felt like everything they’d been building was about to come crashing down. They’d just bought a house together, damn it, and were just getting the business on its feet.

“You could go back into policing. God knows you’re a better detective than gardener. Maybe you could get back together with Rick. Or try with Alice. Jem and Amy would love to have you living closer again…”

“Simon-” Kieren’s brows knitted. “I don’t want to be a policeman. Or be with Rick. Amy and Jem have busy jobs- we’d see just as much of each other if we lived as neighbours…” Kieren licked his lips. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No.”

“Well you’re trying something. Jesus, I’m sorry for what I said, Si, I didn’t mean to push you away like this- I don’t want you to leave.”

Simon’s hands clenched on his thighs as he looked down at them, fingers balling into fists. “I envy you for your friends. Your family. They love you as you are.”

Kieren’s mind froze as he thought of what to say. His first reaction was to say that Simon was loved too, but by who? Simon was right, Kieren was lucky to have the people he had. Who did Simon have?

Kieren felt his heart pick up. Simon had Kieren. As he thought the thought, Simon’s hand enclosed Kieren’s. Simon had been being childish. Jealous. Simon had Kieren. Kieren watched their hands, unable to gather the courage to find out what Simon looked like at that moment.

“Simon-”

The landline to their house had only been used a couple of times, once by an errant salesperson, once by Kieren’s mum to test the number, but it was the number they used on all of their business documents as their work number.

It was a quarter past nine on a thursday morning, and their phone rang. Simon jumped like he was in a burning fire, leaping for the phone. Only Kieren did too, and their hands met in the middle. “It’s probably for you,” Kieren excused, pulling away. “I’ll make tea. Coffee?” he asked, garnering a nod of thanks from Simon.

“It’s about the will,” Simon whispered, holding his hand over the phone.

“You take it.”

“Kieren’s indisposed right now, would it be possible for me to take it? I’m his… partner. Yes. Yes. Monroe, that’s right. ….Revelations one one eight.”

Kieren raised an eyebrow.

Simon waited until the ‘you’ve been put on hold’ message sounded. “My password. Catholic upbringing. Yes I’m here- oh great, thank you.” He covered the phone again. “They’re putting me on the line with Alice. Sure you don’t want to take it?”

Kieren’s shake of his head was slightly quicker this time.

“Oh hi, no, no, he’s not taken the passing too well, so I’m handling calls et cetera… How are you? Oh that’s good, yeah, work finds its ways to be useful at hard times…”

Kieren strained to hear what Alice was saying, but to no avail, making of tea forgotten.

“I’m sorry?” Simon spluttered, paling. His eyes, which had been roaming about the room as he talked, locked on to Kieren, making him shudder. Simon didn’t bother with covering the phone this time.

“You’ve been made sole beneficiary.”

“I’ve been- what?”

Simon held out a finger, grabbing a pen and his notepad, scribbling as he uttered small encouragements. “Yes, no I’m still here, go on, yeah, yes.” He looked up from the pad. “£4,078,466. And thirty three pence.”

“Four- million?” Kieren felt a pit open in his stomach.

“And thirty three pence,” Simon added, slowly looking like he’d just won the jackpot. “Says she’ll be around to drop off the will, let us read it. ...This afternoon? Yeah, yeah we’ll be free. Ok, thank you, yeah thanks, you too-  bye.”

“Four million.” Kieren sat back on the sofa. “Seventy eight grand- that’s enough on its own-”

“Thirty three pence could buy you a couple of chomp bars down the shop.” Simon docked the phone but remained standing, pacing across the room. “You’re a millionaire, Kier.”

“No, no, no, we should sort things out first, see if she owed anything, we could be inheriting her debts.”

“She would have told us, though, right? If she was a massive gambler?”

“Simon, she didn’t tell us she was going to give us four million quid, what else could have slipped her mind?”

Kieren watched as Tiberius padded towards them, going first to Simon for a pat before sitting on Kieren’s feet. “And what do we do about him?”

“He’s a sight-dog, we can’t keep him.”

Tiberius whined as if he knew they were talking about him and Simon pouted. “He’s been growing on me.”

“Well when you’re registered as blind you can request him.” It came out harsher than he’d meant it and Kieren winced. “Sorry. Sorry, no, we should find him a good home. We won’t be able to take him with us to other people’s houses.”

Simon sighed as he patted Tiberius, but seemed resigned to it. “I’ll call the people in charge of him. There must be documents somewhere saying which kennel he’d come from.”

“God we’re going to be busy, aren’t we.”

“Four millions though… we could buy one of those racehorses we found buried.”

Kieren sighed, falling back into the sofa and closing his eyes. “All I’m saying is don’t get your hopes up.”

-

Simon spent the day in Charles’ house while Kieren was sent off to the bank to deal with paperwork. Simon had spent the night thinking on how clingy he’d been and so when Kieren had suggested the arrangement, Simon had smiled, given a thumbs up and dropped to Tiberius’ side.

“You’ll like that, won’t you, T-rex. Go home, sleep in your own bed.”

Kieren had groaned from the kitchen, making them both toast. “I said I was sorry for making you sleep on the sofa.”

Simon didn’t even grumble when Kieren dropped him off in front of the wrong house and was nearly hauled off by the police for attempting to break into some poor old woman’s home next door.

It was admittedly a lot easier to clear the house when he thought about how Charles hadn’t left anything to any family- anything he or Kieren didn’t want, they would donate to a charity shop or could sell on if it seemed expensive. There were only a couple of things set aside in the will for friends or associates, mostly rare, first-edition books or priceless works of art, the finding of which being Simon’s task for the day.

They’d been sent a copy of the will and he went around the house creating piles of stuff- things he was interested in, things that could definitely be binned, and things specifically mentioned in the will, ticking off items as he went.

Feeling strange being in someone else’s house, he didn’t raid the fridge for his own lunch, (he threw away stuff likely to go mouldy in the next few days,) but he did throw a couple of sausages Tiberius’ way.

The house was odd, Simon realised- not one family photo, no childhood albums hidden away; the only photos he could find through his digging were relatively recent ones, the last thirty years, perhaps, and all at commemorative events- a colleague's leaving party, the writing on the back of one explained, a work friend’s anniversary, a university-wide ball.

No mention of Charles’ parents, siblings, an uncle, a second-cousin once-removed. He flicked through her phone books but none of the asides (Adrian Smith, the plumber without builder’s bum. Frances Paul, smells like an ass, shows up at office. Alice Dainty, banker, talking to her feels like pulling teeth,) mentioned anyone she’d met at a family reunion.

Charles had been harsh, true, but things like this showed she wasn’t cold, the asides were humorous, not meant for anyone’s eyes (not even her own, non-working ones.) Perhaps she had a sense of humour that verged on gallows- chuckling to herself as she scrawled numbers and letters on a diary she’d never be able to read.

She must have been lonely.

Simon looked around himself as he took a break, settling on one of the sofas that looked less-used (he could see which seat Charles had favoured and it tore a bit off of his heart.) To have no-one to share her jokes with, no-one to laugh with, to read off an extract of a book or magazine…

No-one to call your next of kin. She’d had to give the entirety of her possessions to an ex-student, for god’s sake. The thought stayed in his hair until mid-afternoon, when Simon’s stomach started to complain about the lack of lunch, he’d run out of bin-bags and try as he might he couldn’t find a broom anywhere in the house. Remembering he’d passed a Tesco’s down the road, he grabbed his wallet, Tiberius quick at his heels.

“I’m only going to be a minute,” Simon explained, telling Tiberius to sit, which the dog did. “I want you to keep watch, so pretend you’re a bloodhound, okay?” Simon thought Tiberius looked like he understood, which was good enough for him.

While he was out, Simon picked up a bag of treats Tiberius seemed to like.

Simon’s last task of the day was to sift through Charles’ documents, waiting till the end so that Kieren could join him. When Kieren texted that he’d gone straight home from the bank, Simon wilted, collected the assorted papers he’d found and decided to head home. He nicked a couple of quid from Charles’ pot of change beside the door and tried to find the nearest railway station.

By the time he got home, he was too tired to care that Kieren smelled of Alice’s perfume, and was humming a happy tune, a world away from this morning.

As he came through the door, Kieren whirled around, grinning. “I’ve just been handed two thousand quid in cash. We’re having Chinese take-away from that expensive place you like.”

Simon frowned. “Cash?”

“Alice said we wouldn’t have access to the money for a full year unless we got it in cash, so I agreed to ten grand in the next three days, and said we’d wait on the rest.

Simon’s frown only grew, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t have let Kieren go by himself. “Did you bring any of the documents home?”

Kieren shrugged. “Alice seemed to know what she was doing so I left them with her.”

“Kieren…” Simon didn’t want to be a downer, he really didn’t, especially after Kieren had so expressly been against Simon controlling his life, but… that seemed too iffy, even for someone who wasn’t versed in law. “Tomorrow would you mind bringing stuff so we can cross-reference against Charles’ stuff? Before you sign anything?”

Looking sheepish and defensive, Kieren backed into the kitchen, where he was opening a can of san pellegrino. “I already signed.”

“Jesus, Kieren, you can’t just-” Simon rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Trust, trust, remember, he needed to trust that Kieren knew what he was doing. “Okay. Okay, fine. Can you get me a scan anyway? I’d like to add it to the folder.”

“What folder?”

Simon held up the papers he still had clutched in his hand, bound in a big bulldog clip he’d taken from Charles’ desk. “Since you’re inheriting her stuff, I thought I’d bring her documents. Make it easier to sell the house, stop her bills, pay anything that needs paying.”

“Oh.” Kieren had seemed defensive at Simon’s attempted outburst, but as Simon talked, his tenseness had released, and he stared intently at the papers.

“After my parents died,” Simon explained. “I had to do this all. I thought it would be easier than watching you struggle through it. Sorry, I overstepped.” Simon was picking at the jumper thread at his elbow. It didn’t take a genius to see he was torn up about the entire affair, or that the lack of sleep wasn’t helping.

“I’m not-” Kieren sighed. “Go to bed, Si. It’s been a long day.”

Simon drooped, rolling his shoulders, warming them down from the days’ heavy lifting. He bit down a refusal and headed towards the stairs, brushing past Kieren as he did so. Three stairs up, Simon stopped. “Kieren, just… think about it, okay?”

Kieren made a noncommittal noise and watched as Simon left. By the time Kieren brought up tea, Simon was soundly asleep.

-

Kieren wondered at how Simon was able to wake up so early every morning, even when he was so obviously tired- by the time Kieren rolled out of bed, there was a note on the kitchen table saying Simon had gone back to Charles’ house, and that he wouldn’t need help if Kieren needed to go to the bank- or to take care of allotment duty.

The second day, Kieren was handed the other 8k in a backpack with an invite to brunch from Alice, who still offered to pay, despite the literal mountain of money at Kieren’s feet (that made him sit at the restaurant in a cold, paranoid sweat.)

Kieren went straight home, depositing the money in their safe (police-issue, a housewarming present from Jem,) then went to find Simon. He drove past Charles’ house first, but found it empty. Kieren sat behind the wheel and considered just texting Simon, until he thought about the fact Simon hadn’t physically talked to him since the incident on the stairs, and doubted whether he’d respond to a text.

He glanced at the time on the car’s dash and decided he might as well water the plants before heading home again.

As he approached Charles’ lot, he wondered why he was so surprised to see Simon there, kneeling bent over in the dirt, plucking weeds Kieren had obviously missed, content look on his face. He looked like he belonged in this world- old t-shirt, baggy jumper, stained jeans, neat pile of weeds on one side, dog on the other.

Simon hadn’t seem him yet and Kieren realised just how long it had been since he’d seen Simon so relaxed- without anything, anyone to threaten or disturb him, no murder mystery, no tales of heart-break, just the flowers and the worms.

Kieren turned and went home. Simon wouldn’t thank him for disturbing the peace.

-

Simon was happy to be spending the day at the allotments with Kieren, after three days of Kieren avoiding him. He’d tried to leave subtle notes hinting at where he would be, but ending with phrases like ‘if you’re busy I hope your day is more fulfilling than mine’ or ‘I’ll be at the gardens but I know you wouldn’t want to join me, don’t worry about it’.

This morning, Kieren had wordlessly filled the jeep with the stuff they needed, made a thermos of tea and a couple of sandwiches and dressed up warm. It made Simon smile like an idiot, which seemed to catch and light one in Kieren.

It was such a simple thing, a smile, but it made the day go quick, easily, tensions from the week coursing out into the soil through their fingers than through their words.

“I’m going to the loo, you need anything?” Simon asked. Kieren shook his head with another smile. Today was shaping up to be a good day.

“If Dainty’s in charge of yer friend’s money you’d best warn him.”

Simon turned to see an old lady, about Charles’ age. She held out her hand, which Simon shook, bemused at finding so many strong ladies at one allotment. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Dainty, she’s not what yer friend believes. She’s a crook, bad as any of them…” the lady winced, seeming to sink in on herself. “Any of us…”

“You worked for Dainty’s company?”

“Ha!” That seemed to shake some life into the woman. “You mean does Dainty work for MY company!” She laughed a bit more at Simon’s shocked look up and down her person. She was every bit the retired gardener in her pink fleece jumper, grass-stained trousers and muddy trainers, thick green gloves protecting her hands.

“Oh before Dainty worked there I was CEO… then she alleged me of embezzling… a banker can never quite come back from that. It was all swept under the rug, and I won’t say I’m poor, but…”

“But you’re not retired on a CEO’s pension,” Simon finished, recognising the gloves and equipment she had as run-down, bottom-of-the-range ones.

“So how does she do it? How does Dainty just… sweep things under the rug?”

“Trust. You think ‘well I’ve never met a nice banker before’ and you think to yourself ‘well these young’uns, they’re always advocating for fresh faces and less crime and then you hope…”

“...” Simon looked over his shoulder at where Kieren was pulling up a weed, absent-mindedly telling Tiberius about what were weeds and what weren’t. Simon grabbed the lady’s hands and shook them again. “Thank you, thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.” He kissed her cheek, garnering a shocked, but pleased laugh, and then jogged back to Kieren.

“Who was that?” Kieren asked, smiling up at him, shielding his eyes against the sun behind Simon.

“She used to work with Dainty. Until Dainty wrongly accused her of embezzlement and she was fired.”

The sun from Kieren’s smile started to fade, replaced with storm-clouds. “She’s an old woman, Simon. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“What, like Charles didn’t know anything because she was an old woman?”

Kieren looked at his watch and stood, stripping off his outer layers to reveal clean, semi-formal wear. “I’m going to be late to meet Alice.” His voice barely concealed the hatred in his thoughts.

“You’re still going? After all I’ve told you? Kieren, she’s a crook!”

“It’s a meeting, Simon. I’m not giving up on Charles because of some…” Kieren shot a look at the obviously eavesdropping lady in question, “Rumour Mongerer who has nothing better to do than to shame honest people and to trick kind people like you.”

Simon caught Kieren’s arm, his own anger quivering his voice as he pulled Kieren close, out of the lady’s earshot. “At least ask some questions, Kier.”

Kieren yanked his arm away, not looking back as he stormed from the garden. Simon watched him leave, back straight, jaw clenched, until Kieren rounded the corner and he deflated. A few more seconds and he turned to the old lady, sending her an apologetic shrug.

“He’ll learn, one way or another,” the lady said, sympathetic. “You best look after him.”

Simon nodded, patting Tiberius. Then he ran in the direction Kieren had left.

-

Kieren met Alice at her office, not a ten minute walk from the allotments, visible in fact, from where he knew Simon would still be weeding and talking to senile women.

“Mr. Walker!” Alice greeted from her seat in the lobby, standing to stride over to him. “And only three minutes late.” She laughed at his trying to apologise and brushed it off by taking his arm. “I thought you might like to see some of my ventures. Let’s walk and talk.”

Kieren was dragged back through the revolving glass doors, out into the streets of London, down winding roads that seemed to be entirely from shimmering blue glass, like an endless world of mirrors.

“This,” Alice introduced as she walked through the site, “Is a top of the range block of flats that I shall own.”

“Christ…” Kieren looked up at the tens of tens of floors planned above him, tarp in the windows to protect them from the rain. “It’s so large...” Kieren flushed as Alice winked at him, though thankfully forgoing a tactless ‘that’s what they all say’.

“Too large for one I should imagine,” she said instead. “Imagine yourself living here, Kieren.”

Kieren apparently had the budget for it now, but though pricey, it seemed emotionless- the buildings would be glass and metal, in the centre of the city. Kieren preferred four brick walls and a defunct but pretty fireplace.

“I want you to be my husband.” Alice wheeled on him, clipboard in one hand as if she’d just suggested they go down to the pub for drinks.

“Oh-”

“Kieren. Marry me. We’ll be beautiful and rich together. No need for that doomsayer partner, no toiling in the mud. Just us.”

“Alice, I’m sorry. I don’t love you.”

Alice paused for a second, her head tilting with a frown. Then she laughed. “What has love got to do with anything? You like me? You find me attractive? Successful relationships are not built on the whims of romance.”

Unbidden, Simon’s book on flower language bubbled to the surface of his mind, making him smile faintly. “...Whims of romance are important to me.”

Alice’s shoulders deflated, for once her cool veneer shattering.

“Oh Kieren.” She reached into her bag, clipboard disappearing. “Why did you have to say no?”

Gun- Kieren’s police training kicked in, he swerved as he ran, trying to avoid a direct shot. He flinched as a bullet buried itself in a wooden beam he’d just passed, again when a window shattered.

But as always, Alice knew what she was doing- she had backed him into a corner, with only the builder’s elevator for cover. Kieren took it, he had very few options, slamming the red metal door closed behind him. Except- he looked up, the elevator itself was above him, he’d only trapped himself behind the safety barricade. He looked through the metal grating at Alice, who was smiling sweetly. She’d put the gun down, now, her arm hanging by her side.

What the fuck.

“What the fuck?” Kieren asked once his senses had returned, adrenaline pounding through him. “What the fuck!” He pulled out his phone, swiping the ‘emergency call’ button with shaking fingers. Crouching down to avoid another shot, he told the woman on the line that he was being fucking shot at in an abandoned building by his banker.

“It’s too late, Kieren. They’ll find your body sooner is all.” She cracked her neck, walking slowly closer, her high heels clicking on the cement floor. “God you could have lied. Who says no to a marriage proposal in an abandoned building? The pretty ones are so often the dullest…”

Kieren looked up at the sound of metal on metal, only to see the gun being pointed down at him through the grill. He shifted sideways as the bullet fired, ricocheting off of the ground, pinging up into the metal and away from Kieren. He nearly cried as he heard the sound of the trigger pulling again, but pulling a blank. She’d run out of bullets. Kieren hoped to god she’d not brought a spare magazine.

“Well no matter, it’s too late anyway, I’ve already become the legal owner of that money. Jesus, you could have at least pretended to read the terms and conditions.” Alice abandoned the gun, pulling her keys out instead. “Four million and you didn’t read the terms and conditions.”

“I trusted you.”

“God, gag much.”

Kieren flinched at the sound of an engine- but not from a car, from a machine? The metal cage surrounding him started to shudder as it woke up. Alice pressed something, a beep sounding, and the shudders got stronger.

Kieren looked up. The lift was descending. He stood, slowly, as if his movements would make the metal trap speed up.

“It’s useless,” Alice laughed as Kieren tried the door he’d ran through. “It locks when the lift’s in use.”

“Oh my god you’re trying to kill me.”

“I was shooting you before. Did that escape your attention?”

“You’re killing me because I said no?”

Alice rolled her eyes, unnervingly calm. “No, Kieren, you’re going to die in a tragic accident because you’re a witness to my stealing four million from you.” At Kieren’s blank (if slightly panicked) stare, Alice sighed. “Jesus, were you not listening as I explained that it was very obviously written in the terms and conditions that you had to claim the four million within three days or it would be claimed by the bank? And by bank I meant me.”

“That’s not legal…”

“Kieren, you’re about to be killed, I know it’s not legal.”

Not knowing what to say, Kieren sat back as far as he could from the elevator, staring around the shaft for any escape route. The doors were too high to vault, there were no other exits, he withdrew into himself, curling into a ball. He thought about Jem, how he’d never see her become an inspector. About his parents, who would always regret how Kieren hadn’t gone back to his ‘proper job’, of Amy who’d already lost so much, and of Rick. He wondered whether Rick would go to his funeral. He wondered whether Simon would let Rick attend.

Kieren smiled a little at the thought of Simon on parole outside the crematorium, stalling his tears for a few seconds until the shuddering got too loud to ignore. Kieren looked up- if he’d still been standing there’d only be a couple of metres between them. Simon would be broken by Kieren’s death. They’d only just had the conversation three days ago about how Kieren was the last man standing in Simon’s life.

God, it was frustrating- as Kieren sat taking his last breaths he thought about Simon- about how Simon had been fairly obviously flirting and Kieren hadn’t noticed and hadn’t reciprocated- god, he would give anything to tell Simon- Simon who would end up dying alone like Charles.

The sound of a dog’s bark reverberated around the empty building and Kieren’s mind emptied as if the swirling thoughts had been flushed- he spun as much as he could and saw the bullet of a black body collide into Alice, Tiberius holding her down with a growl as Simon tried to catch up-

“Simon!” Kieren shouted, “Keys! She has the keys!” Simon’s attention startled to Kieren, face paling as he watched the metal for half a second. Not comprehending, he stumbled towards the grate, pulling at the door only to have it remain locked. “Keys!” Kieren said, desperately pointing at the keys Alice was still clutching.

Simon span, dived for the metal and jumped up again, hands trembling as he tried to match key with lock- jamming, turning, trying a different key-

A triumphant slide and click, Simon punched the red button, the machine stopped whirring above Kieren. After the ear-piercing noise and proximity, all that could be heard were Tiberius’ low growl and Kieren’s still-frantic panting. “Holy shit- holy shit, holy shit-” Kieren fell back when the door he’d been leaning on opened, sending him scrambling for purchase on the nearest thing- Simon’s legs. “Oh my god, holy shit-”  Kieren gulped down his tears as Simon fell down beside him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He could feel Simon shaking as much as he was. “Kieren, don’t ever leave me, don’t leave me like that- I’m so glad you’re safe, are you hurt? I heard gunshots, did she hit you?” Simon didn’t look like he could decide between hugging Kieren close and pushing him away to check for wounds so he did both with seconds-long intervals.

Kieren shook his head, adrenaline finally crashing, fingers tightening in the back of Simon’s fleece jumper.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Simon hushed when Kieren tried to answer, fingers in Kieren’s hair stroking, relatively calm now, grounding. “You’re safe now, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

By now used to the sounds of London, both failed to realised the whirring sirens were destined towards them until the officers swarmed around them, some arresting Alice and looking for other perpetrators, others coming to check on Kieren and Simon’s wellbeing.

“Oh god,” Kieren heard whispered into his ear, reverent, prayer-like. Kieren looked up at Simon, who laughed. “I really need to pee.”

The last of Kieren’s adrenaline fell out of him with a laugh from his belly. It was all he could do to cling on to Simon. “Never change, please, never change.”

-

Simon was trying not to feel like a class A creep as he watched Kieren fall asleep that night. He had wanted to make sure that Kieren would fall asleep without a problem, even with exhaustion pulling at Kieren’s seams Simon knew what an experience like that could do to a person, could make even sleep seem like an enemy. He was pleased that Kieren felt calm enough now that he could doze peacefully, but he wanted to make sure Kieren wouldn’t be alone if he woke up.

Simon had kept his bedside lamp on, which so far hadn’t disturbed Kieren, and so he kept it on, slipping the book on his bedside table onto his lap. He watched Kieren for a while whilst he flicked through the pages, occasionally landing on ones he’d marked with bits of paper torn from newspapers, receipts, napkins, anything he’d had to hand. While he’d been reading the book, he’d been marking anything he thought resonated with Kieren, knowing it was soppy and ridiculous, he couldn’t help how every flower seemed attached to the man he’d been spending so much time with. Falling in love with.

There were a few jokey flowers in there, pink stargazer lilies to represent wealth and prosperity, which he now removed the bookmark for- he was going to buy Kieren a bouquet of them had the whole inheritance thing actually come to pass, but most of them chronicalled Simon’s own feelings. Peruvian lilies meant friendship and devotion, before Simon knew the extent of his own admiration. Lilies of the valley when he did realise, another synonym of devotion but with an addition of humility. The flowers were usually given, the book said, on the second wedding anniversary, so that both partners could express how one could not be without the other, but for Simon they rung more akin to unreciprocated love, but how he loved all the same, without condition and without needing to be accepted.

He turned to the final bookmarked page, on which the two he’d first thought of sat side-by-side. White stargazer lilies expressed sympathy: sympathy for the poor, lost and broken man Simon had first met, who kept on losing as long he’d known him. But then, Simon smiled. He turned to the lightly snoring Kieren, a softness to his face, a moment of vulnerability while he didn’t need to face forwards and fight the world.

Kieren had said once, in one of the first gardens they’d worked in, the garden that they had received the book in, in fact, that he had loved water lilies. The first thing Simon had done was to check the meaning, the beginning of his new obsession. Water lilies. Love and Life. Simon had thought it sad at first, with Rick, with being surrounded by murder cases, but now he smiled. Love and Life. These suited Kieren perfectly.

-

Kieren woke up when he heard a small thud, heart picking up as he wondered at the sound, strained to hear footsteps, to hear the click of a gun, hearing neither, he loosened his screwed-closed eyes and turned towards the sound, finding the culprit on the floor. Simon’s stupid book about flowers. He followed the arm dangling out of the bed to find a sleeping Simon; he must have fallen asleep while reading the damned thing. Kieren couldn’t stop a fond smile calming his features. For all of Simon’s protestations that he’d be awake if Kieren needed him during the night…

Kieren rolled over further and picked up the book, making sure none of the pages were creased from its fall. It didn’t look like any of the bookmarks had fallen out either, which Kieren was strangely glad about. He had no idea what they were for, but he’d seen Simon spend a lot of time putting them in, writing down notes, rearranging them. He could only imagine they were to remind him about special projects, maybe flowers for their own allotment.

Kieren turned a couple of pages, the first time he’d allowed himself to touch the stupid book. He glanced at Simon to make sure he was still asleep (God only knew what Simon would say if he caught Kieren looking vaguely interested,) and turned another. Kieren would admit the book was beautiful: whoever they’d hired to illustrate the flowers had made the piece look stunning. He stopped on a rather radiant sunflower, on the right of which said in large lettering “adoration”.

Kieren glanced at Simon, then blushed. The brightness of the sunflower, the yellow of a sun, the unarguable happiness, they made him think of Simon. He resolutely turned the page. Delphinium. Boldness. These were more elegant, mature flowers, a dark purple, they made him think of Simon again. Simon could, Kieren had to admit, be surprisingly adult in certain situations, could make Kieren feel protected. He grimaced, turned again. He flicked through a couple of pages that thankfully didn’t have anything to do with Simon, making him think the first two were a fluke. Hyacinth had three meanings, and he stopped. “Playfulness, rashness, constancy.” Kieren wasn’t going to grace those with an internal answer, but he felt his blood rush through his veins all that little bit quicker.

A chapter on Chrysanthemums gave Kieren pause. The bronze ones meant excitement, the red sharing; he supposed Simon did a lot of both, sharing his business and now his home… the white, though, he stared at them for a little while. Truth. Simon was… truthful. Honest. He’d never said his feelings out loud but they were plain to see, and even plainer to see that he was only keeping them quiet because he knew it wasn’t the right time for Kieren. Simon didn’t lie to him. Simon kept nothing hidden.

Kieren cleared his throat, feeling a little too overwhelmed and completely idiotic for getting so emotional over pictures of flowers. He wiped at the corner of his eye, dispelling the threat of tears. Larkspur were a lot more simple than the other flowers in the book, less ornate, less obvious, hidden behind pages and pages of exuberant petals. They weren’t pretty, or brilliant, or stunning, but it was on this page that Kieren stopped on.

Larkspur. Beautiful spirit. Kieren cleared his throat again, and turned to his bedside table, where there was a label from a pair of new gardening gloves. He placed the label in the crook of the pages and shut the book, placing it in between the two beds.

It wasn’t what Simon felt, not yet, but as Kieren turned off the light and settled back down, knowing that Simon would know he’d put the marker there, he felt a little lighter, a little brighter, ready to face the coming days. He felt like he could fall in love.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of a series of 2, the second of which I hope to post soon <3
> 
> ninjaninaiii.tumblr.com  
> monsternistart.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 1 of a series of 2, the second of which I hope to post soon <3
> 
> ninjaninaiii.tumblr.com  
> monsternistart.tumblr.com


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